Soul Meets Body
by SherlockAvenger
Summary: Nika had a simple objective: kill her estranged brother and thus prove her loyalty to the Red Room. It was supposed to be a straightforward assignment, to be carried out as easily as any other mission which she had completed. She soon learns that with family, things are rarely so uncomplicated.
1. Chapter 1

The night was cold and cloudy, a brisk chill blanketing the air. Their neighborhood was made up mainly of factory workers, and by this hour they and their families were all in bed. All was silent, until a muffled scream broke through the faux-peacefulness. Two brothers awoke suddenly, alert and searching for the threat. It was not difficult to locate the source of the scream in their small, one-room house. They watched in shock as their little sister was pulled through the open doorway, the intruder's hand placed firmly over her mouth. She kicked and fought, but a small four-year-old is no match for one so highly trained.

The boys yelled and jumped to their feet, rushing after the assailant. When they got outside, however, the kidnapper was nowhere to be seen. They searched the village for the better part of half an hour, but knew all the time that it was futile. They had heard the horror stories, of course, of the girls who were stolen away in the dead of night. Until this moment, they had never believed that it could happen to them; especially since it had been so long since such a thing had occurred.

The youngest brother wept bitter tears, mourning her already. None knew what happened to the girls when they were taken, but one thing was certain: they never returned. Yet while the boy cried, his older brother was filled with a silent rage. He had seen enough misfortune in his life, and he was not going to continue to live like this: in fear, poverty, and working through hardships only to be beaten back down. They would not continue to grow in this environment. He would make something of himself, and his brother. Life was harsh for all who lived it, but for those who knew how to weather it, to push back and force it to meet their needs, it reaped the benefits of fortune and renown. They were going to have that, one day.

* * *

Nika strode alongside her teacher. Though it hadn't been explicitly stated, she knew to where she was being led. Almost all of those who passed the Red Room's training program underwent the ceremony. She knew only vaguely what was going to happen, and so it was with a slight feeling of unease that she followed her mentor into the medical ward.

The surgeon spoke quickly with her teacher, and upon hearing their words a sense of nausea joined the fear blooming in the pit of her stomach. They quickly and efficiently prepared her for surgery and then made her lie down on a bare metal gurney. The cold stung her legs and arms, but she said nothing. To complain was a sign of weakness.

They pushed her down a long, bare hallway. She forced her mind to forget what was about to happen, and focused instead on the blinding lights that periodically flashed overhead, and the squeaking and scraping sound that the wheels made as they traveled over the cement floor.

Once they had reached their destination, she was immediately injected with an anesthetic that made the room tilt and blur uncomfortably. Out of the corner of her eye, she could make out a small team of nurses shuffling about, moving tables filled with grotesque instruments around. One of them quietly sidled up to her and pushed an IV into her wrist. She didn't feel it. Soon after, the room ceased it's spinning and her vision began to fade. Everything went dark.

She awoke later, feeling the effects of the surgery. Cold, aching, and for some reason, tired, she looked in puzzlement at her new surroundings. They had moved her to a different location while she slept. The thought was disconcerting, as she now had no idea where in the large building she was, though she supposed she could find her way around easily enough. She was alone. A nurse would be in eventually, though. Looking around once more, she took in the sights (and the term is used loosely). There was a bed (on which she was currently situated) and a clock. Nothing else. The cement walls stretched around her in a seamless square, seeming to grow larger and smaller the longer she looked at them.

She considered getting up, but discarded the idea. They would not appreciate her moving about before she was supposed to, and that would get her in trouble. An hour passed, and then two, and Nika felt herself beginning to grow hungry. She wanted badly to walk around but knew it would be unwise to do so, especially so soon after her surgery. She might hurt herself, and then what? If she was injured, they might decide that she was unfit to be in their service, following which her days would be swiftly cut short. Even if they decided to keep her and let her heal, that would be a major blow to her career. The weak did not advance in their ranks. No, everything must go smoothly. There was no room for error.

As she was mulling over these thoughts, a tall nurse walked in and proceeded to check her vitals. Nika tried not to stare, but this woman caught her attention somehow. There was nothing particularly striking about her. She wasn't exceptionally beautiful; her hair was a plain brown, and tied up into a bun on the back of her head. She wore the traditional nurse's outfit specific to the Red Room. It took her a few moments longer than it should have to pinpoint what exactly had taken her off-guard. This nurse kept looking at her, straight in the eye. This was unusual for an attendant in the Red Room. The fewer personal contacts one made, the better, and looking someone in the eye usually instigated conversation, or at the very least a feeling of camaraderie. The organization and all of its members were steeped in shadow and mystery, and they liked it that way. This odd exchange (if it could be called that) did not last, and Nika chalked it up to a rare but odd occurrence and thought no more of it.

Waiting was an activity which was common in her line of her, and also nigh-on impossible for Nika. She had a raw, untamed energy within her, and there were times when she would catch herself longing to be free of the Red Room so that she might find a way to sate it. These types of thought were not allowed, of course. They were dangerous. One might think that what a man thinks in his head is private, but in all actuality, it is not. Your face always betrays your thoughts, and you can't keep them secret, try though you might. There are those who can read faces like the pages of a book. The Red Room was filled to the brim with agents such as these. Therefore, when she began to contemplate these notions, she would force her mind onto other matters. But man is not always master of his mind, and occasionally Nika's own brain would disobey her and treacherously continue this line of thought; that she peruse the things she could accomplish if she were on her own. Just Nika: Servant of no one.

Patience was a pillars of the Red Room's regime. They claimed that those who did not hesitate to jump head-long into their impulsive plans and desires would soon be caught up in a web- one woven of their own folly. This meant, basically, that they were fond of making their students wait extremely long amounts of time for things which could have been provided almost instantly.

After another long hour, Nika heard the doorknob turn. She had been expecting another nurse (one who was, hopefully, bearing sustenance of some sort), so it was quite a surprise when the Head Mistress walked in. She was flanked by guards, though this was just a formality. Everyone knew that she could more than hold her own in a fight.

"Congratulations on completing our training program," The older woman began without preamble, as was her nature. "In a few hours time, you will be sent out on an important, and delicate, assignment. One that will determine your future with us. You are to be sent to America. You will be dropped off in Manhattan, New York, and from there you will make your way to the neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen. It is relevant now to inform you of your living relatives."

At this, Nika's curiosity was piqued. Relatives? Up to this point, she had been under the impression that her family was dead. That is what they had told her. So, they had lied. While it wasn't a surprising fact, it was relatively upsetting.

"You have two brothers who are currently residing in Hell's Kitchen. Their names are Anatoly and Vladimir Ranskahov."

Keeping her face cautiously blank, Nika felt her insides begin to twist in…excitement? Anticipation? She could not tell for sure, but it was a strong emotion, and one which she had not felt in a very long time. She had brothers.. she shouldn't be happy about this, she knew. They despised happiness here. Well, not precisely. But they tried to discourage it, because happy people do not make good assassins.

"Your mission," The Head Mistress went on, "once you are in the vicinity, is to track down these men. When you have done so, your orders are simple. Find the elder, Anatoly, and kill him."

Nika released a slow breath, trying to make it sound natural. In truth, it was anything but. Her heart was beating faster than she thought was normal, given the circumstances. Why was she reacting like this? She didn't even know this man.

"I see." She stated in a neutral tone. It was likely that the Head Mistress was not convinced by her calm facade, but she had to try. Her reaction could be a test in and of itself. The girls of the Red Room were expected to remain level-headed and emotionless at all times. Of course, they were only human, and thus these were traits which they constantly worked to keep under wraps.

"If you are to succeed and thrive in our organization, we need to know that you are truly one of us. You can prove this by relinquishing ties to your former family."

Difficult though this would be, Nika knew she had to prove herself. _'A job is a job,'_ She thought to herself. _'It doesn't matter who he is.'_

Without missing a beat, she spoke up.

"When do I leave?"

* * *

She stood in a deserted alleyway in the grimy neighborhood of Hell's Kitchen. It was apparent now why they had chosen that name- it was indeed a rough part of town. It isn't the sort of place you would want to be walking through at night- unless, of course, you are a highly trained assassin, in which case it is unlikely that you will face any real problem.

However, there was a _very_ real problem that faced Nika at the moment. She needed to complete her mission within a small time frame, and it seemed that these brothers were going to make it difficult for her. Finding them had been the easy part. After all, the criminal underground is well-connected, and the Russian mob's whereabouts are known and avoided by a good deal of the drug dealers in town.

She had located them much more quickly than her usual targets, and she had foolishly begun to think that the rest of the mission would be as simple. Not so. It appeared that the two brothers _never_ left each other's sides, which was getting to be quite irritating. Her orders had been specific. It was imperative that Vladimir was kept alive, probably because the Red Room wanted to test her ability to maintain control over a situation, so Nika decided that attacking Anatoly while Vladimir was not there would ensure that the younger brother didn't die in the melee. She was going to wait for them to part ways, but from the look of things, that wouldn't be happening anytime soon.

They had given her a small backpack with provisions- food, and the like. She ate a light snack when 12 hours passed. Another 8 or so went by, and she was still following them around, waiting for them to go their separate ways. Bored to death, she sorted through the items in her bag once more. There wasn't much to look at. A few packets of food for energy, a bottle of water, a roll of gauze, and a few other odds and ends. There were no weapons. She was supposed to carry this out with her bare hands, though for what purpose she could not discern. Tapping her feet and drumming her nervous fingers, she waited as the minutes rolled by and a sick, anxious feeling grew in her. She didn't know why she should feel this way. Hadn't she killed many others before this man? And to think of the ease with which she did! What made him so special? They may have been related by blood, but she didn't know him. She couldn't even remember him… for the most part. But there was always something at the back of her mind. A shadow of a memory, perhaps. A memory from such a long time ago, before she was in the service of the mercenaries who raised her. It was another lifetime.

Tiredly, Nika looked up from her vantage point. She had been silently tailing the brothers as best she could without being seen, and their current position had her sitting on a bench behind a parked car, watching them through its windows. But wait. What was this? They were leaving- in different directions! It took them long enough. She waited until they had gone a reasonable distance, and then stood up and casually strolled along the same route that Anatoly had taken.

It was time to finish her mission.

Treading on silent feet, Nika made her way through the crowded streets and dark corners of Hell's Kitchen, keeping a watchful eye on her brother- her target. The two words had become synonymous in her head, and it was a little unsettling.

Anatoly's path led him back to the taxi garage. She was going to make her move then, but he surprised her by exiting quickly and turning back- toward her. She had to backtrack quickly, so as not to run into him. Fearing that he had realized he was being followed, she sank into the shadow of a small business's awning. Anatoly came nearer and nearer still, seeming to the young girl to be looking heading straight for her. Then he passed her hiding spot, and she sighed in relief. She felt her chest loosen, not having noticed the constriction her panic had caused.

Mentally berating herself for getting so worked up, she reentered the street and searched for the back of Anatoly's head. Finding it to be much farther away than she would have expected, she picked up her pace and jogged for a few moments.

The path he was taking apparently led back to his place of residence- an apartment which was surprisingly nice, considering the neighborhood. This would be the hardest part of the chase. There was no one else going to the building, so she couldn't pretend to be with someone in order to disguise her entrance. He would most likely know the faces, if not the names, of all of the tenants, so if he saw her arrive it could be marked as suspicious. Though, she supposed it didn't matter much at this point. The only thing left to do was kill him, so his suspicion wouldn't do any harm, other than possibly taking away her element of surprise. She'd dealt with worse.

She entered shortly after he did. She had to put enough distance between them so that she could follow him through the building without alerting him of her presence. This is a difficult proceeding, as these types of buildings tended to be constructed of narrow hallways and a whole lot of sharp corners. Still, she wasn't inexperienced in this area, so she was able to handle it with relative ease, At least, it started out that way.

Everything was going smoothly, and she was getting a little smug at the thought that he hadn't noticed her yet. This feeling proved to be premature, as apparently her eldest brother was more perceptive than he let on.

Her original plan had been to track him right to his apartment and attack him there. That would be the simplest course of action because it was doubtful that anyone would be on the premises at this hour to hear the scuffle. She hoped that, it being early afternoon, everyone would be at work. There also would be no cleanup involved. She prided herself on her ability to carry out neat executions, but this way she wouldn't have to dispose of his body. She would simply leave him in his home, which would probably give her a good amount of time before he was found. As she had learned from experience, however, things rarely go according to plan.

She turned a corner only to find him standing there, waiting for her. He was leaning casually against the wall to show, she supposed, that he wasn't really concerned about her (a mistake in and of itself), but he was tense, ready for a fight.

"Why are you following me?" He asked in his thick accent.

She hesitated for a moment, considering what to do. They hadn't told her to anticipate conversation of any sort, and she had never come across anything like this in her previous missions. She ought to go straight to the point and just kill him, but she found it difficult to let an opportunity such as this pass by. What harm could a little small talk do, after all?

"Because I was sent to kill you." She opted to be brutally honest with him. He deserved that in his last moments, at least. She had used her Russian accent in speaking to him, letting him know that he was dealing with a fellow countryman. A few days ago, after they had told her of the assignment, she had played over a situation similar to this in her mind. But thinking about talking to him and actually doing so were two very different things, and she knew she was walking on thin ice. If they found out that she had conversed with her target… but they wouldn't. How could they? She was alone with him here. The Red Room was good, but not that good. Unless they were monitoring her. She decided to ignore that disconcerting thought and press on, for good or bad.

Anatoly smirked at her words, but when he realized that she was serious, his hardened gaze returned.

"Who sent you?" He hadn't moved from his position, so he obviously didn't really see her as a threat. And why should he? For all he knew, she was just a young girl. A decoy, perhaps. The thought must have occurred to him at the same time she thought it, because he took a quick glance over his shoulder.

Knowing full well that she was rebelling against the true purpose of her mission, to show that she had no emotional ties, she replied to him.

"A Russian organization, the name of which you may or may not have heard before. It is of little consequence, as you will soon be too dead to further pursue the matter."

He raised an eyebrow at this, and then stated in a slightly incredulous tone, "You truly think that you can overpower me."

Nika sighed. She was stalling, she knew, but a part of her was seriously considering telling him who she really was. ' _It might not be such a bad thing,_ ' She thought to herself. ' _If he knows we are siblings, he may try to beg for mercy on those grounds. When I kill him despite his pleas, will not that show my strength to them?_ ' Whether true or not, it was her justification, and it was all she needed.

"I know that I can," She said meekly. "I have been trained very thoroughly. Though it is unfortunate that I must kill you."

This was the truth. She felt rather sorry that her brother was about to die, and at her hands. She would be punished by her superiors for thinking this, but it would have been nice to have some semblance of a family. Not the sort of family that the Red Room claimed to be, who beat you if you were ever out of line, and always held you at arm's length, but a true family; one that laughed and cried with you, and protected you when you needed it. Then her thoughts turned bitter. ' _If I want a family such as the one I have dreamed about, I should look elsewhere._ ' After all, where were her brothers when she needed them to help her, to protect her? The women of the Red Room may have been emotionally distant, but at least they were there. They raised her to be the strong person she was today and taught her to take care of herself. She did not need anyone to do that for her.

With that thought in her head, she attacked.

* * *

 **A/N: Hello, and thank you for reading Soul Meets Body! First off, it would be beneficial to let you know (especially if there are any returning readers) that I have edited the first three chapters into this one, and plan on taking the next three and combining them, as well (I did this because they are all exceedingly short, and I felt they worked better when placed together). I have also done some minor editing to the sentence structure, word choice, etc.**

 **I did not change anything in regards to the actual story or plot.**

 **Please, do inform me of your thoughts on this. Liked it? Didn't like it? I thrive on comments of any kind, and value honesty, so constructive criticism is heartily accepted.**


	2. Chapter 2

Nika lunged at Anatoly, throwing a punch at his face to distract him while she kicked at his knee. She landed a blow squarely on his knee-cap and then swiped his leg out from under him. He nearly fell, but regained his balance and countered by grabbing her wrist and twisting it. She broke free from his grip before he had time to gain an advantage.

The next minute flew by in a series of punches and kicks (with neither of them playing fair). Then she saw an opportunity, and took it. He was still teetering from a well-placed blow she had landed, so she stomped her foot down hard on the side of his ankle, and he went down further, though he was trying to brace himself against the wall. She swung around behind him and grabbed his chin and his forehead in her hands, preparing to snap it and end his life.

Before she could do so, a pair of hands took hold of her shoulders and yanked her back, slamming her to the floor in the process. She looked up in surprise, not having heard anyone approach. While berating herself for not paying better attention, she leapt to her feet and found herself face-to-face with her other brother, Vladimir. _Oh,_ _of course they would share an_ _apartment_. Apparently they both had separation anxiety.

Vladimir lashed out at her, snarling. Anatoly quickly recovered, and joined his brother. Nika held her own for a short while, but their attacks were coming quicker and quicker, both of them seemingly energized by the other, and she was being backed into a corner. She could hardly avoid being taken down, let alone make any advances herself. The barrage of attacks were constant and unceasing, and she hardly had time to think. She knew that needed to get out of there, or they were going to kill her.

Ducking between the two of them, she sprinted down the hallway toward the stairwell. She was very fast, but not fast enough to escape them in this narrow hallway. They caught up to her and dragged her backward, away from the stairs and her freedom. They pinned her arms behind her back to hold her in place for a moment, and as she struggled then spoke rapidly to one another in Russian. She understood them, of course, but they either didn't know or didn't care. They were planning on taking her back to their headquarters, which she assumed was the taxi garage where they spent most of their time.

She threw her head back in hopes of catching one of them off-guard, but they were standing too far back for her to effectively hit either of them. The next thing she knew, one of them was grabbing her hair in a fist and slamming her head into the wall a couple of times. Somewhere amid the pain and dizziness, she fell unconscious.

* * *

Nika was conscious of an annoying buzzing sound, coming from off in the distance. Not far enough away, unfortunately. She was lying on her back, arms twisted into an uncomfortable position. Something sharp and long was cutting into her wrist, and her head was throbbing. Her eyes flew open and she stopped herself just before she sat up, remembering why she was in this position. Anatoly and Vladimir were standing on the other side of the room, conversing. Her eyes closed quickly, and she fervently prayed that they hadn't seen her movements. She couldn't make out what they were saying at first, her thoughts still too sluggish to discern which words meant what at this point. Eventually, her mind cleared enough that she was able to listen in.

They were talking about her, of course. It was mutually agreed that they needed to know who wanted Anatoly dead, and whether Vladimir was on their hit list as well. They were discussing various methods of getting her to talk, all of which were unpleasant, at best. That just meant that she needed to work faster to get herself out of there. Except.. oh, joy. She was chained to something. Taking a risk and opening her eyes a fraction, she discovered that she was handcuffed to a pipe on the wall, explaining the sharp pain in her wrist. That would complicate things a bit, but luckily she had training on how to get out of that, as well. Who knows, maybe she would get lucky and they would leave for a few minutes. Then she made the mistake of moving her head slightly to see where they were, and blew her cover.

"Ah, so the little assassin is waking up." Vladimir said mockingly, anger coloring his tone. She had a feeling that the nastiest ideas to get information out of her were from him, since he was obviously furious at her attempt on his brother's life. Anatoly was angry, as well, but his fuse was much longer than his brother's. And the fact that they had her imprisoned helped, too. He knew she wasn't getting out of this any time soon. She knew that she needed to think of a way to complete her mission and leave, and she needed to do it quickly. She couldn't reveal to them who she was. It was a dangerous game to play with Anatoly, speaking with him earlier, and even if he somehow discerned the truth, he would have been dead soon enough, and the information buried with him. But since Vladimir was to remain alive and well, and he could never know that they were brother and sister. The Red Room would be furious enough with her for getting caught (and not even putting her target in a coma for her trouble), she didn't need to add 'gave up crucial information' to the long list of reprimands she would be receiving.

Unfortunately, thinking on her feet (metaphorically, of course) had never been her strong suit. They were now standing over her, and she was completely at a loss for what to do. She had heard that there were times when even the high level of training that they received while in the Red Room might fail them, where they would be left helpless at the hands of their enemies, and this was obviously one of those times. She just wished that it hadn't happened on her very first solo mission. She sighed internally. Nothing was going right for her, was it? The life of a spy was not an easy one, to be sure.

Glaring down at her, Vladimir began to speak to his brother. "Which one first?" He asked, referring to the methods of 'persuasion' they had discussed earlier. Anatoly considered for a moment, and then smirked at his brother, replying swiftly in Russian. Nika, upon hearing his judgement, tried her best to keep herself from visibly flinching.

Vladimir gave a gruesome grin at Anatoly's words.

"Yes, good. Let us begin."

* * *

Nika groaned at she tried to sit up. She was currently lying in a particularly painful position, made worse by the fact that the handcuffs were chaffing and she had severe bruising over what felt like most of her body. Raising an arm to awkwardly swipe at the bloody hair that stuck to her face, she looked at her brothers from under her brow with a look of what she hoped resembled defiance. They had been at this for hours, and with each new method of inflicting pain upon her, they slowly chipped away at her resolve. The pain was bad, though not quite on par with what the Red Room subjected them to. It was different, however; These were her blood brothers standing over her, torturing her. There was an alien sense of betrayal with what they were doing.

Anatoly leaned down so that they were nearly at eye-level. "Are you ready to speak now? Who do you work for?" The few words they exchanged over the course of her torture had been in Russian. All three of them spoke it, and as it was their native tongue it was much easier for the brothers, not having to search for words in their English vocabulary.

Other than sniffing up some blood which had begun to leak from her nose, she remained silent, staring up at him with a slight scowl. He waited a moment, and then realized that it was going to take more to break her. He sighed, looking into space for a moment. It seemed that Anatoly did not share his brother's lust for pain and bloodshed. That did not stop him from inflicting it on others, though.

He reached out suddenly and grabbed her hand, twisting it painfully against the restraints. His other hand gripped one of her fingers and began to bend it the wrong way. She bit the inside of her lip to distract herself from the pain, and he stopped for a moment.

"Who sent you?" He questioned once more. When she still did not answer, he snapped her finger to the side, breaking it. She tried to hold in a gasp, which just resulted in her choking and having a minor coughing fit. Against her will, her eyes began to tear up a bit. Frowning, she held them back. ' _Really?_ ' She thought. ' _One broken finger and you're going to start crying?'_ But she knew it wasn't just that. Several of her ribs were bruised, if not broken. She had a jagged scrape on her hairline that resulted in blood dripping down into her eyes, and the beads of sweat that were collecting on her forehead would stream into the open wound and sting viciously. She hadn't been in this much pain in a long time, and the thought of going back and confessing the failed mission to her superiors was enough to make her want to have a complete breakdown. But she wouldn't.. she couldn't. She had to stay strong. She had to fight this. But how? There was no way out.

"Tell us now, or I will continue until all of your fingers are broken, and then I will start on less pleasant bones." She couldn't give up.

3 broken fingers later, she had several tears falling, landing on the cement floor with sad little plops which only served to further humiliate her. She was breathing heavily and trying not to cry out when he purposefully moved her injured fingers. What if she just gave in now and told them? Surely the Red Room would understand… and even if they didn't, what good would it do for her to remain steadfast? She would be dead before the next sunrise. She pursued these thoughts in a pathetic attempt to distract herself from the physical agony she was experiencing. Now all of the fingers and the thumb on her right hand were broken.

Anatoly stood up to whisper something to his brother, which offered her a sweet respite, but all too soon he was kneeling beside her again, reaching for her other hand. She couldn't take this anymore.

"Wait." Her voice sounded pitiful to her own ears. It was filled with defeat, and disdain. Disdain for herself, for giving up when she knew the consequences.

Vladimir snorted and said something in Russian. She didn't even bother to listen to what he was saying, since she was too busy trying to decide how she would go about giving them as little information as possible while still satisfying their questions. But then her time was up.

"So?" Vladimir asked impatiently. "Who sent you? What is the name of their organization?"

She bit her lip and then replied. "The Red Room."

At this, the brothers' faces darkened, and they exchanged meaningful looks. So, it appeared that they had heard of it. They turned to face her, both obviously teeming with questions. Vladimir got his out first. "Why do they want Anatoly dead?"

Nika debated not replying, but quickly realized that it would do no good. It was all or nothing now. Perhaps if she told them everything, they would let her go. She would not be able to go back to Russia; not now. They would kill her, as sure as daylight. She could run off, live in isolation, go incognito. They might never find her. Or, if they did, at least she would have given it her best shot. And who was she kidding? They would come. They always did. There were very few deserters, but those who chose that path were quickly recaptured and were killed in retribution for their crime. But if she ran, if she hid... Well, it might buy her a year or so.

"Why?" Vladimir pressed.

Nika sighed. "They don't, exactly. It was only a trial for me. One which I have failed."

The brothers once again exchanged a look, one which was born out of confusion. This time, Anatoly spoke first. "Trial? For what purpose?"

"To test my loyalty to them."

"Why would killing a man you do not know show loyalty?"

"Because… because you're not a stranger, exactly."

"So we know each other?" He asked, frowning. He was growing frustrated with her evasive answers.

She cleared her throat. "No. Sort of.. Well, not really."

Vladimir sighed through his nose. "Enough, no more avoiding the question. Tell us: exactly why were you sent to kill my brother?"

A pause, and then… She took a deep breath, and answered in a slightly shaky voice: "It would prove that I was severing all ties to my.. to my former family,"

There was a short silence in the room while the two siblings processed what she had just said.

"If I killed my brother, that is."

The silence which filled the room was so heavy and awkward that is was nearly tangible. Sure, Nika had just dropped a rather large bombshell on them, she realized that. But would it be too much to ask that one of them just say something? _Something_ to confirm or deny her fear that telling them the truth had been the worst decision she had made thus far on her mission. But alas, her brothers remained resolutely silent, choosing to merely stare at her and each other in bewilderment.

Vladimir and Anatoly were trying to simultaneously process what she had said and also figure out if it was even remotely possible that she was telling them the truth. They took a moment and then made a decision.

"You lie." Vladimir spat, anger bubbling inside of him. How did she know, he wondered? How did she know _exactly_ which button to press to hit a sore spot with them? Or did she just take a shot in the dark and get lucky? Either way, she was going to pay for her mistake. He strode over to her and pulled her head back by her hair.

"I will show you what happens when people lie to us."

He didn't get to do that, however, because Nika cried out, "Wait! Wait no. I am. I am your sister." It all came out in a rush. She took a deep breath, and went on, more slowly this time.

"I was taken and raised by the Russian organization known as the Red Room and trained to be a spy. An assassin."

Vladimir looked to Anatoly, wondering, contemplating. She went on.

"I'm Nika. I am your sister."

He looked up at the ceiling. He felt exhausted and irritated. He finally said, "Prove it."

"..What?"

"I said, _prove it_. Prove you are who you say you are. Tell me something that only we would know. Something from when our sister was still with us."

She paused, sifting desperately through her memory for a glimpse of something that would be her salvation. There was nothing.

"I can't." She stated in a dejected tone, breaking her once-confident eye contact with him.

"Oh, no?" He replied, mockingly. This was what he had expected. To have his sister back was too good to be true, especially after all this time.

"No. I was too young when they took me, and so much has happened since then. I have no memories of you, or Anatoly, or anything else before the Red Room."

He gave a victorious smirk before letting go of her hair and standing up. He strode back over to where Anatoly stood, conversing silently with him. Probably deciding how best to torture her to death.

The truth of her words sunk in for the first time, and she felt a wave of something like remorse hit her. It was odd, because she wasn't used to feeling so many strong emotions in such a short period of time. For as long as she could remember (literally), she had been told to keep her emotions in check at all times. If she felt something other than satisfaction at a job well-done, she was to force it down until she could no longer sense its presence. Eventually, through the years, this became an automatic process. But now so many new, unexpected things were happening, and she wasn't sure she wanted to do that anymore. In fact, she was holding to these feelings like a lifeline. They were different in some ways, because she was unused to letting them take root in her, but they were hers, at least. They had always been with her, hiding in the deep recesses of her mind, and somehow that thought comforted her at this time. She knew that even though her mind revealed no memories of her early childhood, these emotions had been with her always.

And with that particular idea, something clicked.

"The winter of 2002." She said abruptly. The brothers stopped speaking and looked to her, confused.

"What about it?" Anatoly asked her, lifting an eyebrow.

"It was one of the worst blizzards Russia had seen in years. We were trapped inside, and we nearly froze to death. We three were all huddled together under a blanket, waiting for the storm to break." She spoke in an excited tone, in spite of the pain which her injuries were causing her. With the thought of her childhood emotions, she remembered one of the strongest she had ever felt: fear, at first, because of the storm; then came the immense feeling of security, because of the trust she had in her brothers. Her 3 year-old mind had assumed that since Vladimir and Anatoly took care of all of her problems thus far, they could obviously handle this one, too. And if her faith in them was disproportionate to their actual ability.. well, at least she had something to hold on to during those difficult days. That's all a child needs, really.

After she spoke those words, the memory clicked in her brothers' minds, as well. They remembered better than she the long days and longer nights spent in their small dilapidated house, carefully rationing food until it ran out, and then sitting together on the floor, praying the storm would break soon. It was a hard time, but they had dealt with worse before and since. Still, it stuck out in their minds because their little sister was there, and they worried about her so much during that time. That perhaps she would be too small, too weak to withstand the extreme cold and food deprivation. But she was stronger than they had supposed, and here she was sitting in front of them; And, they realized with an guilty start, bruised and bloodied and broken by their hands. What had they done?

There was no doubt now as to who she really was. No one else knew about that time in their life. It was after their parents had died, and they had no friends or even civil acquaintances of which to speak. It had to be their sister. The relief they felt at knowing she was alive was immense, and they were nearly overcome with the joy at finding their long-lost sister alive and.. perhaps not _well_ , exactly. But _alive_. That was what mattered.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: Thank you for your patience! I apologize for the major lapse in updating. I will attempt to prevent that from happening in the future. Enjoy the chapter, and please tell me what you think. Also- I am planning on updating about once every other week, for now. I am doing NaNoWriMo in November, but I should still get a couple of chapters posted next month.**

It took quite a while to get Nika bandaged up after their interrogation. With several badly broken fingers, semi-deep knife cuts, and bruises that covered the majority of her body, her brothers were feeling well and truly despicable after seeing all of the injuries tended to. They had used their resident "doctor," of course, which was just one of the men employed in their garage who had a little training in the medical field. While it may not have been the greatest treatment they could have hoped for, it was the best they could currently offer. After all, they couldn't exactly walk into a hospital Emergency Room with their little sister (whose birth and/or identity was probably not recorded in any known database) and explain that they had beaten her up and tortured her for information just prior to this visit. Even with the Man-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named paying off the police, that would probably still get them thrown straight into jail, which was the last thing they needed right now.

In fact, what they most needed (and wanted) at the moment was for Nika to talk to them. But of course, she obstinately refused to say a word. Were these people monitoring her? Was this mission of hers on some sort of time limit? Were they going to burst in, guns blazing, if she wasn't back at their rendezvous point by a certain time or date? She answered none of these, despite their best attempts to elaborate the importance of the questions. If they were going to have to fight these people, they preferred to be prepared.

So here they sat, half an hour after Mikhail had finished stabilizing her. They had spent most of that time badgering her with questions and getting no response, either verbal or physical. She sat still, staring at the wall with a rather irritated expression on her face (though Vladimir would swear that she looked smug). Vladimir's patience was running thin, though he tried to stay his temper, seeing as he was the reason they were sitting in this dark, dank little room. Looking around, he realized what a dump it really was. He'd never had much cause to be back here, as he was very rarely injured badly enough to need assistance, and the few times he was had him in so much pain that he hadn't the presence of mind to pay any attention to his surroundings. Other than the operating table where the patients sat and the tall chair that the Doctor used, the room was devoid of any furniture. Whatever medical equipment used here appeared to be stored in a small bag which was currently stowed in the corner, on the floor. There was some sort of fungus growing along the cement walls, and there seemed to be water leaking down through the cracks in the roof. Looking around, they couldn't quite believe that this was the local medical room, but they reminded themselves that none of this mattered right now, and forced their brains back on track. The only reason they were still back here was because they had some questions for their irritatingly stubborn little sister, and since no answers were forthcoming, there was really no point in sustaining their visit.

"We should go. We can head back to our apartment and you can get some sleep." Anatoly said, sighing. He ran a hand over his face. In the harsh light of this room, he looked even more exhausted than usual. He was speaking in Vladimir's general direction, though his words were obviously aimed at Nika. He knew that neither he nor his brother were going to get any sleep that night. Vladimir was zoned out, deep in thought, and for a moment Anatoly thought he hadn't heard him, but then he uttered,

"Nika. Come." Nodding his head toward the door and giving her a pointed look, he walked out, expecting his siblings to follow.

She went without complaint to their car. They both wished that she would speak, but they knew that pushing her to do so would be fruitless, so they decided to wait until the next day to try again on that front. They drove in a sleepy silence for the short drive back to their place. Looking in the rear-view mirror every so often, they noticed that Nika seemed to be fighting sleep. Her head would abruptly jerk up, and she seemed to be barely keeping her eyes open. It had been a good long while since she'd had a proper rest, most likely. Here was hoping she'd actually sleep tonight instead of staying up to plot the means of her escape. Both Vladimir and Anatoly knew that was on the forefront of her mind. Even if she had harbored any sort of familial care for them before, she most certainly wouldn't now, after they had spent hours torturing and hurting her. Well, in fairness, she _had_ tried to kill Anatoly, and they couldn't have known who she was. Nonetheless, they felt bad about how the events had played out. Amidst this, however, they both were possessed of an emotion which overshadowed even the deepest feelings of guilt: joy. Their sister was home. Though she was here to kill one of them, she was still _here,_ which was more than either of them could have hoped for. In truth, they had assumed her to be dead years ago, but knowing that she was alive filled them both with a happiness that they thought they would never feel again.

When they arrived at their apartment building, they all shuffled upstairs, ignoring the blatantly curious looks of one or two of their neighbors, and entered what was apparently Vladimir's apartment. So, they didn't live together after all. _'But they live right next to each other, so I was basically right.'_ Nika mused drowsily.

Vladimir gave her his room for the night, until they could make other arrangements. She walked to the bed and began to make herself comfortable for the coming hours, though not before noticing the various men (some of whom she had seen at the garage) standing down on the street, where they doubtless thought they were hidden in the shadows. They would have to do much better than that if they wanted to fool her.

* * *

A loud knock on the apartment door woke the brothers from their exhausted stupor. They had been trying to remain alert, sitting up in the living room all night since it seemed a matter of fact that their teenage sister-turned-assassin would try to get away again, but it had been a very long day, and they had both begun to doze off. At the sound of someone at their door, they both grabbed their guns from their resting places on the coffee table and stood to open it. Whomever was at the door had apparently decided that they were taking too long, so they banged again.

"Vladimir! Anatoly!" Sergei's tired voice called out. They gave each other a knowing look and opened the door, where they found several of their men and, not quite surprisingly, a disgruntled Nika. Sergei had a firm grip on her upper arm, while Dmitry had his hand on her shoulder, though he stepped back with the others once the door was opened. When they got a proper look at the small crowd, they realized that she had given several of them bloody noses, black eyes, and a few were even hunched over slightly, hands gripping their sides in a way indicative of having a broken rib or two.

Anatoly was the first to react, sighing heavily and walking out to meet them, glancing down at his young sister before addressing Sergei.

"Thank you. We'll take her from here."

"She was halfway down the block before we caught up to her. She had already gotten down the fire escape and taken out the men stationed on the street. It's a good thing the scuffle was loud, or we might not have gone outside." Sergei informed him of this, and while Anatoly was annoyed, he couldn't help but smirk slightly. His little sister, who was.. what? Sixteen? This sixteen year-old girl had taken out 5 men on her own. The smirk vanished when that gave way to another thought- if she could take out 5 of these men (while also dealing with her own handicapped body), all of whom were _waiting_ for her, why were he and Vladimir able to detain her so easily? Sergei was speaking again, he realized, so he chalked it up to his men not being as well-trained as he and Vladimir were and let it go.

Vladimir sent the men away with orders to call in others to replace the ones who had been knocked unconscious by Nika (and those too injured to be of any further use tonight) and the three of them went back inside.

Though they could not fathom why, Nika was adamant that she had to get back to the Red Room organization, even though they were her kidnappers, and the people who had turned their baby sister into a killer. She had been missing for.. was it 12 years already? It seemed like yesterday that they had been children in Russia, waking up to see that their little sister was being abducted. But much had changed since then. Back when they were mere children, who still had much to learn about the cruelty of the world, they could have done nothing about this tragedy. They were not nearly so defenseless now.

"What were you doing?" Anatoly questioned in a resigned tone of voice. He already knew the answer, but this seemed a good place to start.

Her brows were lowered into a deep scowl, and she glared up at him defiantly, not even bothering to look sheepish about what she had done.

"I am going back to Russia."

Vladimir snorted behind them and leaned against the doorframe. Both Anatoly and Vladimir knew that she wasn't going back, but Nika had not grasped her situation quite yet. They knew she would try this, so they had taken the liberty of stationing about a dozen men in and around their apartment building, most of them with a viewpoint on Nika's window, in case she tried to escape that way.

"I also would like to go back, but both of our circumstances rule that we cannot. We must stay in this country, at least for now."

Vladimir frowned at his brother's words. He had never quite understood why, but he knew that ever since they had left the Motherland, Anatoly had yearned to return. They had been very fortunate here, to find Wilson Fisk and, more importantly, to have his connections. They would never have done this well in Russia. Here they had money (a lot of it), power, and best of all, they didn't have to worry about hiding from the police, since Fisk had paid them to leave the Mob alone. All this, and still Anatoly missed Russia. Granted, their country was far better than America, but they had a nice set-up here, and he did not want to abandon it in favor of starting all over in a more difficult terrain. He wondered sometimes if Anatoly did not enjoy their business and the benefits therein as much as he did.

"I don't want to stay here. If I return now-"

"If you return now they'll kill you." Vladimir interrupted. At her surprised look, he continued.

"What? You think that they will welcome you back with open arms?"

Her brow twitched.  
"No, but-"

"But nothing. We have heard of these people. We know what they do. If you go back to them now, with nothing to show but a failed mission and too much time away to account for it, they will decide you are not worth the effort. They'll kill you, just as they do all others who are not beneficial to their organization. You are much better off here, with us."

Her lips twisted into a sneer at his last comment.

"They don't turn on their own that easily. There will be consequences for what has happened, but I'll be back out on missions in no time. And you think that if I stay here I'll be safe? No, Vladimir. They know where I am. Even if they did not, they would hunt me down. They will come, and they will kill me if I am found hiding out with the very person I was supposed to kill!"

She was angry now, having talked herself into a rage, even more after realizing just how frustrating this entire situation was. She had been sent on a very simple assassination detail, and now she was being help captive by her own target. How humiliating… and on her first solo mission, too. She had a feeling that this was not something she would easily live down. This failure, this breach in conduct was something that would be on her record for a very long time.

Vladimir's temper sparked at the reminder of her original intentions, how ready she was to murder her own flesh and blood. He began several times to say something, but in the end, he just looked down, smiled bitterly, and stalked out of the apartment, leaving Anatoly to deal with the escalated situation. Not wanting to give him a chance to lecture her and needing time to think, Nika left the room without another word and headed into the bathroom, locking the door behind her and taking a seat on the edge of the bathtub. She knew that this was the only place where she could get the privacy to determine her next move.

Nika knew that regardless of the actions on her brothers' part to make her stay, she would find a way back. What was the saying? 'Where there is a will, there is a way.' And she was willing to bet that her desire to return to the Red Room was much stronger than her brothers' desire to keep her here. They couldn't care that much, seeing as they had never made much of an effort to get her back before this. But she would have to form a more careful plan next time. She decided to wait until her fingers were mostly healed, as the lack of ability to move them all as she wished did present an obstacle. And maybe in the coming weeks, while she was on the mend, her brothers would begin to trust her, and she could have a bit more freedom. She would use that to her advantage. They couldn't keep her here forever. Still, she hoped that spending that much time here in America would not endanger her status with her superiors. By the time she is able to find her way back, they might think she's gone rogue…

She realized now that she would have to find a way to prove her loyalty to them. Not a grand gesture, but something they would appreciate. After thinking about her predicament for a few minutes, she decided to take a look at the big picture. What was it they wanted from her in the first place? What was their endgame? An image of Anatoly flashed through her mind, and she smiled. Sometimes the simple way was best.

* * *

 _Nika had never been one to go exploring and snooping around in places where she did not belong. It was highly frowned upon in the Red Room, and she was no troublemaker at heart. However, something drew her here today. She had been finishing up her daily training routine when she felt as if she were somehow being beckoned down into the dark, twisted maze of hallways encapsulated in the building. She had been here for almost five years now, and never before had she felt anything like this._

 _As she descended into the basement, her heart beat erratically in her chest, anxiety squeezing at her lungs. If she were to be caught down here… But never-mind that now. It was too late, in any case. She walked around for a bit, getting a feel for the place, and trying all of the doors. They were locked, as was to be expected. All except one, it appeared. She paused, feeling almost nauseous with worry, wondering if there were some authority on their way down here right now who would discover her. There was a moment where she almost turned back, but then a strong tug of adventure swept through her, and she pressed on. Forgetting her hesitance from a moment ago, she walked boldly through the doorway. Spiderwebs caught at her face, a sign that no one had been there in a while. Now that her eyes had adjusted to the darkness, she could see that it was little more than a small supply room, lined with wall-to-wall metal shelves all of which were covered with various items, little more than junk. There were a few tools, file boxes, containers full of what looked like old clothing from a previous generation of students, and other odds and ends. Nothing immediately caught her attention, but as her eyes scanned the cluttered shelves, she noticed something odd. She stepped forward to take a closer look into one of the containers, of which the lid was hanging off slightly, and peering inside. She had to do a double-take. Were those.. guns? Why on earth would they keep weapons down here in a random, unused closet? Surely they wouldn't have just left these, with no one guarding them._

 _And yet, there they were. Nika picked one up, and realized then that they were covered in a noticeably small amount of dust- at least, compared to the other things down here. Most of the junk in this room was coated with several inches of the stuff, whereas these guns had only trace amounts over their surfaces. So, the various weaponry found here (and it was indeed various, as they were nearly all of a different make and model) had been placed in this room fairly recently. Judging from the amount of dust collected on them, probably no more than a month or two for most, with a few that had a bit more. Why were they down here?_

 _She had been so absorbed in the mystery she had uncovered that she had failed to observe the most basic lesson which they drilled into her head from day one: always, always watch your back. There was a loud bang as the door behind her snapped open and hit the wall, and in a matter of seconds Nika found herself being grasped by the shoulders and flipped around, strong hands with sharp fingernails clasped painfully on her arms._

 _"_ _What are you doing down here?" It was her head trainer, speaking to her in Russian. The woman was obviously livid, but she never yelled, never once did she raise her voice. Her fury was evident in the way that she held herself and spoke, so calmly, but in such a controlled manner that it was almost robotic. It was the most terrifying kind of anger. Nika was furious with herself for breaking the rules. At that moment, she could not remember why she had so strongly desired to come down here. Hadn't she been tempted just to stay upstairs? Why had she felt the need to be rebellious? It only ever leads to trouble. She should have known they would find her. They probably have patrols down here, in case one of the students tries anything. And even if they didn't, they would have found out eventually. They always did. They were all-knowing._

 _She didn't reply immediately, which earned her a hard smack to her right cheek. She held her head up, averting her eyes from the woman in front of her, knowing that she would have to willingly take whatever punishment they handed out. She had earned it._

 _"_ _Why are you in here? This area is off-limits." The cold voice spoke once more. What could she say? That she wanted to rebel? To go against the rules? She hadn't, really. In truth, Nika couldn't say why she had gone out of her way to come down here. So, rather than lie, because they always knew when she was lying, she remained silent. The woman grew impatient and, realizing that she would get no immediate response, merely grabbed Nika's arm and pulled her along, shutting the door behind them and heading back upstairs. But not before her eyes had settled on the open box behind the girl, and the contents therein. They walked briskly back upstairs, but instead of letting go when they were back in the permitted area, she retained her grip on Nika's upper arm, and marched right down the hallway. They passed the girls' dorms, the training area, and every other place she would rather be than here. They walked and walked until Nika's stomach was in knots of anxiety, wondering where the woman was taking her. She thought perhaps they were going to the Office to have a firm talk about the rules and why they were in place. She almost sighed in relief. Talks she could handle. They happened often, not_ _always_ _when the girls broke the rules (there were relatively few breaches, as they were all well-disciplined), but they were often carted off the the Headmistress's office when they were falling behind the others in studies or training, so that they could get to the root of the issue and solve it before it became a problem._

 _They walked at a brisk pace, Nika's footsteps falling silently on the hard marble of the floor, while the Head Trainer's heels made a light clacking sound with every step. It began to grate on her nerves after a while, but as there was nothing she could do about it, she focused on her surroundings and tried to drown it out. They were in the upscale half of the academy right now. Marble floors, paneled walls with fancy, patterned wallpaper, doors made of solid oak with crystal knobs, and several well-dressed workers going about their daily jobs. The part of the building where Nika lived and trained was quite different. For reasons unknown to Nika, they had made the academy fit into one large building, as opposed to multiple smaller buildings devoted to specific functions. Perhaps it was easier this way, as they were able to keep things (and people) closer together, and there were fewer ways for people to shield the things they did from the eyes of the higher-ups. All she knew for sure was that walking from one part of the facility to another was like going into a completely separate property. Whereas this part was very posh and comfortable-looking, the training grounds for the students were… less so. Cement floors and walls, doors made of hard metal, cheap, rickety bed-frames and lumpy mattresses, complete with thin, moth-eaten blankets. Perhaps they just didn't want the girls getting too cozy. They wanted to remind them that the line of work they were being trained for was not one of luxury and comfort, but one of harsh places and cruel people._

 _As she walked, Nika began to feel rather well about this whole thing. She was getting off quite easy, considering her trespass. But of course, she knew very well that she should not have made assumptions. They practically flew right by the Headmistress's office door, and she felt as if they were picking up speed as they went on and on down the long hall. Where on earth were they going, if not the office? If she were going to be physically punished, wouldn't the Head Trainer have taken her directly to the training room? When someone breaks a rule, and it is deemed that they shall receive physical punishment for it, they're put in the training room and beaten in front of the other girls. This is done, in part, to embarrass the troublemaker, but it is also a warning to the others. If you break a rule, this will be you. Killing two birds with one stone, so to speak. Nevertheless, the training facility was in the opposite direction. They had passed it on the way here. As she was debating the possible options in her head, they stopped and turned toward a large door. She didn't know if it was just her circumstances, or if it actually looked much more menacing than the rest, but she did know that whatever lay behind it would not make for a pleasant experience. Her trainer stepped forward and knocked, then the door opened from the inside…_

Nika woke slowly, and very uncomfortably. She had a terrible crick in her neck, and it took only a moment for her to realize that it was there because she had fallen asleep whilst leaning up against the wall. She was still on the bathroom floor, where she had taken a seat last night rather than going back outside, since her brothers were no doubt waiting for her. While attempting to fully wake up, she considered the dream she had just experienced. It was odd, to be sure, as it seemed like a memory, but wasn't. She had never gone into the sub-levels of the Red Room's building, nor had she been tempted to. Not only was it against the rules, but it had never appealed to her. Everything she needed was on the upper level, after all.

Suddenly, someone knocked on the bathroom door, startling her a bit.

"Nika?" Vladimir's voice rang out, and she stifled a groan, rubbing her eyes.

"What?" She replied, wincing at how her voice croaked from disuse.

"Are you… coming out any time soon? You have been in there all night,"

He was still speaking when he heard the lock click, and the bathroom door swung inward to reveal what looked like, in his honest opinion, a disheveled zombie.

"I was just checking on you. We thought you might have gone down the drain," He smirked. Rolling her eyes, Nika stepped around him and walked into the living room. He makes jokes now? This ought to be fun. At least she smelled food cooking.

* * *

They sat around the small, circular card table, awkwardly staring at one another. How long did normal family breakfasts usually last? For the siblings, a morning meal usually meant hastily stuffing down whatever they could find (or, in Nika's case, whatever she was given) and then getting back to work. But this time was different. Vladimir and Anatoly, having found their long-lost sister, decided that they all needed to sit down and get reacquainted. After all, it had been 12 years since they had last seen each other. Surely they could find something to talk about?

Half an hour had passed, the food was picked over (none of them having much of an appetite after the previous night's events), and no words had been spoken. At all. Once or twice, Anatoly had opened his mouth to make a casual comment, before realizing that whatever he was about to say was not fit for a family breakfast discussion, much less to be heard by his younger sister. He supposed, in hind-sight, spending all of his time around his crude employees (not to mention Vladimir, whose everyday language could make a sailor blush) was probably not the best idea.

He wasn't even sure if he wanted Nika in the garage anymore. After all, their men pulled no punches when it came to their language, and he didn't really want his sister picking up that sort of habit.

A few more moments passed, not quickly enough for their liking. Nika stared at her plate, or around the nice apartment, and the brothers stared at her. They had hardly taken their eyes off of her since discovering her relation to them, only letting her out of their sight to allow her some privacy to change out of her soiled, bloody clothing into something cleaner and more comfortable. They were both a bundle of nerves the entire time she was gone (a staggering 7 minutes), worried that she would attempt to flee again, and succeed with no one there to stop her. But their worries were in vain. She did not escape, probably due to the fact that the bathroom has only one door (which they were guarding), no windows, and no other escape routes. Then there was last night, though they didn't have much of a choice in that, since she locked the door. They could have broken it down, of course, but that seemed a bit extreme, and they figured she was probably fine (but that didn't mean that both of them hadn't thought it over more than once over the course of the night).

Needless to say, by the time breakfast rolled around, she was already sick of their constant stares. That was when Vladimir decided that even a question slightly inappropriate to their first meal together was better than this disquieting silence which shrouded them. He leaned back in his chair and asked in a deceptively casual tone,

"So, tell me. How many men have you killed so far?"

She looked up at him, vaguely startled. Anatoly just rolled his eyes and smacked his brother lightly on the shoulder, earning an indignant 'What?' from Vladimir. He had expected his brother to say something like this, it was only a matter of time. However, his sister smothered her surprise and took it all in stride, giving an answer while observing the subtle interaction between the two.

"Many." She replied with a half-shrug. "I have not kept track."

That was a lie. Every person she had been sent to kill, whether they were innocent or not, had been another searing iron on her soul; hurting at first, but eventually fading, leaving dead nerves and a barely-receptive conscience in its wake. But she remembered every man, woman, and child that she had dispatched with a keen stab of pain. Not pain for the dead, but for her waning sensitivity. She knew that the day would come when she would kill someone, feel the blood cover her hands, see the limbs go limp on the floor and the light leave their eyes, and she would feel... nothing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: Thank you all for reading this story. I appreciate each and every review, follow, and favorite. You've been very encouraging! I hope you enjoy the latest chapter. It turned out to be quite a bit longer than I had intended, but I hope that you enjoy it. Please leave a comment when you're finished to let me know what you liked and/or did not like about it. Constructive comments are always welcome!**

* * *

Running her fingers through her pale blonde hair, Nika stared at her bleak reflection in the mirror. There was a long, irregular cut along her hairline which had scabbed over sometime in the last couple of days. That was going to scar. It should have been stitched up, but she refused to let anyone near her with a needle so soon after the torture her brothers had inflicted upon her, and they seemed to respect that. Several of her ribs were bruised badly, enough to make her nearly cringe with every movement, but she ignored the pain from those and the myriad of other bruises covering her body and forged onward. Her fingers, however, were another matter. Broken bones generally hurt quite a bit regardless of the situation, and without pain medication it was very difficult to go about her normal activities; but that was a subject she would not be moved on. No drugs would ever cross her lips, as far as she was concerned. She had been taught never to take medication unless it was completely necessary, as it dulled the senses and made you more vulnerable to attack. The first few times she had turned down the pain-killers, she had also gone without eating or drinking, because she feared that her brothers would slip something into her food in an effort to 'help her'. That was impractical, she realized, and thus it didn't last long. Nika knew she would have to keep her strength up if she wanted to get out of here in one piece.

The fact that she was largely ambidextrous was a blessing, as all four fingers on her right hand were broken beyond use at the moment. They would heal, though, and in the meantime she needed to get out of here, and back to Russia.

She pressed lightly on different parts of her ribcage, trying to gauge exactly how much it would hurt to be in a fight right now. Pretty bad, but nothing she hadn't felt before. It was a good thing the Red Room had forced her to push through any and all pain in the past, otherwise her endurance wouldn't have been built up over time and she would not have been able to handle as much pain as her dear siblings inflicted on her.

There came a knock on the door, and Vladimir called out that breakfast was ready. She didn't bother to hide her groan this time, as he knew very well that she protested the upcoming event.

Nika was really beginning to resent this 'family time'. Of course, that wasn't what they called it, but they might as well have because every morning for at least an hour she was forced to sit at the breakfast table with Vladimir and Anatoly and participate in the horrific act of family discussion. This mostly consisted of her brothers asking her many ( _many_ ) questions, ranging from polite inquiries of how she was feeling to deep interrogatories about herself and her life. Most of the questions, no matter their substance, went unanswered. Nika didn't feel any particular duty or desire to tell them these things, which they had no business knowing, brothers though they were. What is family, really, but several people forced by society to live together and share one another's burdens and livelihoods? What was the point of it all?

After shrugging off or blatantly ignoring most of their queries, her brothers silently agreed that if they wanted her to actually speak during this morning ritual, they must needs choose a different approach. Thinking that perhaps she would respond better if he and Vladimir were speaking to each other as well as her and weren't just trying to force themselves into her head (which they were), Anatoly turned in his chair so that he was facing his younger brother.

"Vladimir, what are our current profit margins?"

Vladimir stared at his brother for a moment as his mind rapidly tried to switch gears.

"Veles Taxi is fluctuating around 16-18%, while our," He paused a moment, sending an unconscious look to their little sister, "*other* business is holding steady at about 28%."

Anatoly hummed at this, pleased that they were doing so well in their ventures. While Vladimir majorly took care of their finances, Anatoly dealt with their men, which meant that he wasn't always as up-to-date on their monetary state as he supposed he should be.

Nika looked back and forth between them for a moment and then sat forward, curiosity piqued. The Red Room hadn't told her much about the mob.

"Your 'other business'?" She paused to give a short laugh. "You can say it out loud, Vladimir. Hearing it from you will not kill me."

He looked relatively surprised.

"You know, then?" He asked cautiously.

Nika raised her eyebrows in a cool expression.

"Of course. You don't think they'd send me out on an assignment without giving me all of the relevant details, do you?"

Vladimir started to speak again but was interrupted Anatoly.

"What exactly did they tell you?"

She paused. How could she phrase this so that it would give the illusion of knowing more than she was letting on? She decided on the short and blunt approach.

"You two are the leaders of the local Russian mob."

Anatoly smiled a little, beginning to catch on to her charade.

"Yes, and...?"

Her nose twitched slightly. Well, she was trapped now. In the end, it was her hesitance which gave her away. Vladimir spoke up, his tone irritatingly triumphant.

"But you don't know what our business really is, do you?"

She sighed through her nose and leaned back in her chair.

"No," She muttered.

"But why did they not tell you what we do?" Anatoly asked in confusion, choosing to ignore the fact that his little sister was once again trying to manipulate him.

Nika crossed her arms and sighed thoughtfully before replying,

"I suppose the details were not, as I said before, relevant,"

"Though," she added before he had the chance to speak again, "Since you are trying to get to know me, it's really only fair that I also know you. And we could start with what you do for a living, aside from running the taxi garage. What does this particular branch of organized crime do?" She smirked at them and raised her eyebrows, hoping they would tell her. For a reason unbeknownst to her, she was genuinely interested. Rather, she was curious. Just curious, she told herself, because she didn't actually care about what they did for a living, other than for a small sense of eagerness to learn their secrets.

The brothers exchanged a skeptical look and then focused their attention back on her.

"I think," Anatoly began slowly, "We will leave that discussion for another time, yes? Why don't we start on smaller issues."

Nika frowned.

"Why? You're not ashamed of what you do, are you?" She asked, trying to bait them into telling her. It was a cheap shot, but if it got them talking it would be worth it.

The corners of his lips turning up in a slightly deprecating expression, Anatoly answered her.

"Ashamed? No, of course not. But it is not exactly breakfast conversation."

She drew in a deep breath and smiled.

"What about after breakfast, then?"

Anatoly leaned his elbows on the edge of the table, looking at her from underneath his lowered eyebrows.

"You're very persistent, hm?"

"Some might say 'annoying'," Vladimir added, rolling his eyes.

Nika took it in stride, smirking and shrugging. Looking cautiously at his brother while he spoke, Vladimir said,

"But yes… maybe after breakfast…?" His sentence trailed off into a question, as he wasn't sure Anatoly would agree.

"I don't know, Vladimir," Anatoly responded quickly. His sister was so young, and he was afraid she would not take the information well, her upbringing notwithstanding.

Nika saw her chance then and leaned forward, eyes pleading.

"Come on. It'll be fine. What's the worst that could happen? It's not as if I can just decide your lifestyle is too horrible and storm out, never to be seen or heard from again." She thought that perhaps adding a bit of sarcastic humor would put them in a better mood to answer. And it did seem to be working, as Anatoly looked like he was about to give in.

"I suppose… it couldn't hurt." That was a lie, he knew it most definitely could hurt. But he was overruled, and he knew when to pick his battles. Though.. that didn't mean they needed to tell her *everything*. Not right now, at any rate.

"Alright," He added, throwing his hands up defensively and leaning back, crossing his arms as he did so.

"Nika, our mob's main business is transporting and selling drugs throughout Hell's Kitchen." He tried to sound hesitant, as though this was what he sincerely didn't want her to find out. Nika was too well trained in analyzing facial expressions and tone of voice, however, and she knew as soon as he began to speak that he was holding something back.

"Fine, but what else?" She prodded, knowing for a fact that there was more to this.

Vladimir rolled his eyes but decided not to press his brother any further today.

"We'll talk about it later, yes?" He said, attempting to convince Nika.

Nika sat back and looked at both of them in turn, seeming to conclude that she would get no more out of them right now. Best not to press her luck. She nodded her assent and went back to eating.

She picked over her food for a little while longer, the conversation having lapsed after the topic of their occupation was dropped. After a few more minutes of eating in silence with her brothers, Nika got up and placed her plate in the sink, wandering into the bathroom and locking the door behind her.

Vladimir's eyes followed her, and he sighed.

"You think she's digging a tunnel in there?" He asked, only half-joking. He wouldn't exactly put it past her to try something of that sort, and she did spend and awfully long time in there each day.

Anatoly raised his eyebrows and tilted one shoulder in a bemused shrug.

* * *

"...What are these?" Nika asked somewhat disinterestedly.

"They are books," Anatoly replied sardonically.

She looked up at him in perplexity to find him gazing at her with an amused and somewhat anticipatory expression, hands folded patiently behind his back. He was waiting, but for what, she knew not. Yes, he had set a stack of books in front of her. So what? She flipped one of the books over with the tip of her finger as if searching for an answer. She sat in silence and stared at him, awaiting an explanation. The only thing she received was a raised eyebrow and him looking pointedly between her and the stack of novels. She rolled her eyes.

"I can see what they are. What would you like me to do with them?" She asked impatiently.

He seemed surprised and mildly affronted.

"I thought you might want to _read_ them, sister. To give you something to do other than sitting around the house all day, staring at the walls, since that's all you seem to want to do."

She blinked a few times, eyes looking in his direction but staring right through him, trying to process what he was saying.

"I don't like reading."

"What?" His confounded tone would have been funny, were she not already annoyed that he was bothering her.

"It's boring," She said, shrugging. Wanting him to leave, she turned around and settled back into her chair, attempting to dismiss him.

" _Wait_ ," He drawled exasperatedly, walking around the chair so that she was facing him.

"If you dislike reading, it just means that you haven't found the right book. Now, tell me: what types of books have you read in the past? I'll find one in a different genre. Perhaps you'll find that one enjoyable."

His attempt at bonding with her was admirable, to be sure, but juvenile. Why on earth would she find _reading_ a scintillating pastime, of all things?

"I've read only the books that were given to me by my superiors."

"And what were they?" He prodded, wanting to keep up the conversation for the sake of talking to her, as well as trying to cheer her up by giving her something to do since they couldn't let her out of the apartment.

She sighed, rubbing her face with the palms of her hand. She looked incredibly exhausted. It was strange, when he thought about it, seeing as she had done little more than sleep over the course of the last week. But it was understandable, in light of the trials she had been through (he tried not to think of them as what he and Vladimir were putting her through) as of late.

"I am not sure what they were categorized as exactly, but through them I learned languages, information on various types of weaponry, and other information beneficial to those in my line of work."

Anatoly smiled, having discovered the root of her problem.

"Now, there you go. You've only read dull assigned reading like we used to get in school. The books that have been written for enjoyment by people, rather than to teach you things, are the ones you want to read." He turned to the coffee table and picked one out of the middle of the pile, and handed it over to her.

"Here, try this one."

She took it with a limp hand, eyes barely glancing over the cover before dropping it into her lap with a decided lack of enthusiasm.

"Thank you," She commented drily, "I'll read it later." All of this being said in a monotone did not inspire much hope in her brother that she actually intended to fulfill her promise, but what with her having little else to do here, he hoped that she would eventually give in. Deciding he had done all he could, Anatoly got up and left her slumped tiredly in the chair.

It was about three hours after their encounter that Anatoly was walking back into the living room of his apartment, only to discover Nika completely engrossed in the novel he had picked out for her earlier. He smiled and watched for a moment as she poured over the text, brow furrowed. She was a quick reader, he noted as he saw that she was already about one-third of the way through the book. She looked more peaceful now (frown though she might) than she had since she had gotten here. It was strange, seeing her like that. Figuring that he would leave her be for now, he walked back to his office to get some more work done.

* * *

"For the last time, I do NOT need a babysitter." Nika said vehemently.

Anatoly frowned at his young, stubborn sister.

"We must be sure nothing happens to you while we are away."

Nika scoffed at this.

"You mean you need to make sure I'm not going to try and run off again. Surely the men under your employment have more important things to do than keep watch over me?"

Well, she wasn't wrong. Their men did indeed have many more things to do before they could end their work day. Nonetheless, protecting their little sister, both from the Red Room and from herself, was much more important, and thus took priority over everything else.

"Just.. cooperate. _Please_. At least until Vladimir and I get back from taking care of our business."

She brightened as saw an opportunity, and took it.

"Ah, yes, Anatoly. And what exactly is that business? You still haven't told me."

This made him scowl in frustration.

"I _have_ told you. We transport drugs throughout the city. And make lots of money. That is our job, and we are very good at it."

Nika's eyebrow raised slightly.

"But that's not all. There is more to it. Another side to your work."

He didn't respond, opting instead for staring off into the gloomy darkness of the garage, waiting for Vladimir to finish getting ready and rescue him from this conversation. Honestly, the man took more time to prepare himself for work than a teenage girl. Anatoly had often told him this and was able to put that to the test when Nika had come to stay with them. For several days after she arrived, there were constant comments ranging from slight barbs to full-on lectures about how long Vladimir spent in front of the mirror.

His thoughts were interrupted by a taxi pulling in, from which Vladimir stepped out. He leaned casually against the hood of the cab.

"Are you ready?" He asked, in an impatient tone that implied Anatoly was at fault for their tardiness. Vladimir had always been impatient, wanting everything done on his schedule, so Anatoly had grown used to it.

"Vladimir, I'm glad you're here," Nika said, casting a somewhat viscous smile to the brother standing next to her. "Anatoly was just about to tell me the full extent of your mob's business in Hell's Kitchen."

Vladimir's eyebrows went up for a fraction of a second, and then down, lower than his usual scowl.

"Oh?" He asked in a rather irritated tone of voice, glaring all the time at his brother (who, he might add, had just this morning gotten after him for almost telling Nika the whole truth about what they did).

"No," Anatoly frowned at Nika. "We will tell you eventually, but not tonight. We are late, as it is."

Nika sighed, but crossed her arms and nodded resignedly.

"Now, where are my captors?" She asked in a neutral tone of voice, glancing around the garage.

Vladimir grinned at her, the expression more frightening than anything on him.

"They are in the other room, come on," He said, motioning for her to follow him. He led her down into the hallway which branched off from the main part of the garage, and then into a room which was filled with several of their men playing poker and smoking cigarettes.

"Nice to see you are hard at work," Vladimir said, smirking. "As I explained this morning, Nika will stay with you until our meeting is over."

Clapping a hand on her shoulder, he added,

"Take good care of her." With a meaningful glare aimed at the men, he left.

Vladimir closed the door behind him, leaving Nika standing in the entrance of the room. The men looked at her, and then back to each other, and then to her once more. She stared each of them down, slightly uncomfortable (she was rarely in a room full of men that she was not meant to kill), but standing her ground nonetheless. She kept her face hard and impassive, to let them know she wasn't afraid of them (because she wasn't. Nope, not at all).

There was a very awkward silence while they all tried to figure out what to say, and then Sergei cleared his throat.

"So.. You are Vladimir and Anatoly's little sister, yes?" He hadn't been here the night she arrived, and she had not gone been to the garage since.

She stared at him for a moment before deadpanning,

"I thought that was implied."

A few of the older men chuckled at her unexpected sarcasm, though the rest remained silent. Most were young, probably new to this business, and unsure of whether it was appropriate to laugh at or with the boss' sister.

' _That's cute_.' Nika thought. If she could make them fear her, it would come in handy down the road.

She looked down for a moment, then around the room, her hands clasped in front of her. The ice was only cracked, not broken, and none of the men in the room knew how to act around the young woman. After all, the only teenaged girls they were ever around were those whom they kidnapped, and this was a vastly different situation.

One of the younger men seated at the table gave her a lopsided smile and invited her to join their game. Her eyelids lowered slightly into a half-glare and she declined, opting instead to cross her arms and lean up against the doorframe. The others, unsure of what to do, merely went back to their card game.

Several awkward minutes went by, the room unusually quiet. Every once in a while, one of the guys would shoot a covert glance toward Nika, but no one attempted to speak with her again for another twenty minutes, at which point Dmitry had decided that the stifling silence was unbearable.

"You know," He began, "Now that you are an official member of the Ranskahov family, you are an honorary member of the mob, too," He spoke in a weirdly jovial tone of voice which sounded out of place in this environment. Nika snorted slightly through her nose.

"Is that so?" She was smirking, and one of her eyebrows was raised, challenging his statement.

"Of course!" Dmitri gestured outward with his hands, grinning.

"You're one of us!"

She frowned a bit at this, not pleased with this at all. She was an agent of the Red Room, not of this... crime ring.

"I don't think so." She said tightly, head tilted toward the ceiling, staring at nothing.

One of the other men, she had not yet learned his name, decided that now was a good time to jump in.

"But they're right! You're a Ranskahov. And since you'll be staying here now, you are an unofficial part of this all. After all, I'm sure your brothers will want to involve you in the family business." He said all of this with a gleam in his eyes, and a small smile playing on his lips.

Nika looked him square in the face.

"It is not the _family business_ , and I do not work with or for Vladimir or Anatoly," She informed him coldly.

She would not allow herself to form any attachments, official or unofficial, to anything or anyone here, because she was going to abscond as soon as she got the opportunity and return to Russia. She almost winced at the thought of going back to the Room, as she was sure that her Superiors would not take kindly to her extended stay here. However, their students were not thrown away quickly, as they had put twelve years or more into training all of them. She would face the consequences and move on.

She then began to wonder what if would be like if they were more lenient. She didn't really want to kill Anatoly. It wasn't as if she cared for him, but she rather detested the idea of killing him now that they had spent time together. The ideal mission was one where she never knew her victims. Meeting them face-to-face and then getting to know them (forcibly or otherwise) threw a kink into her emotionless facade.

When they realized that she was not happy about being here, several of the men scowled, though not in anger. It was something more akin to pity and discomfort. When Vladimir had informed them that she might try to escape, they had not yet known that it was due to the fact that she actually _wanted_ to leave, which is what it sounded like when they heard her speak. They didn't know much about her, like where she hailed from (Russia, obviously, but they knew nothing more specific than that), where she had been all of these years, etc. Vladimir and Anatoly had never mentioned a sister, so when they brought it up this morning, their men had simply thought that they had merely wanted to keep her away from the business. After speaking to their employers about it, however, they got the feeling that this wasn't the case. Especially when they said that she needed to be guarded more than anything.

Suddenly, the figurative lightbulb gleamed over Nika's head.

"I need to use the restroom," She stated, turning to leave.

"Wait!" Sergei said, dropping his hand of cards face-down on the table and nearly knocking his chair over in an attempt to rise quickly. He strode quickly toward the door, eyes locked on her. She rolled her eyes.

"I don't need help, thank you."

He gave her an apologetic grin.

"Your brothers asked me to accompany you wherever you go."

She made an impatient noise in the back of her throat, and then left the room, the mobster following closely behind her. Before she got far, he cleared his throat loudly.

Nika turned in annoyance, trying her best not to glare at him.

"What is it?" She questioned, her voice deceptively calm and innocent.

"Bathroom's that way." He tipped his head in the other direction, which was further into the building. She did her utter best to hide the heavy sigh which was trying to escape her. She trudged off in the direction he had given, glaring down at the floor. After walking for a few moments, he stopped her and pointed at a door on the left side of the hallway.

She made like she was entering the small room, and he turned and looked back down the narrow passage. With his back turned, she made her move. Kicking out swiftly, she hit the back of his knee. Not hard enough to knock him down, but it caught him off-guard nonetheless. While his arms flailed out, steadying himself, she grabbed his right wrist and jerked it down, forcing him to his knees. She used her other hand (which was not easy, considering the broken bones) to leverage his arm behind his back. He reached up over his head with his left arm and grabbed a fistful of her hair, yanking it to the side and pulling her off-balance. She took the opportunity to kick him in the side, and he released her with a grunt of pain.

He was still on the ground, in the process of getting up, and though he was fast, she had the advantage of being on her feet. With one fist, she punched the side of his face, knocking him to the right as he tried to stand. He spun around and kicked her legs out from under her, and she landed hard on her back. Using this to her advantage, she braced her elbows on the floor and kicked out at him. He caught one of her feet and held fast, but the other landed in the center of his face, feeling the bone shift beneath her boot and hearing a sickening crunch. She smirked, realizing that she had just broken his nose.

Sergei cried out in pain, releasing her other foot, and she launched herself at him, grabbing his jacket and throwing him into the wall. She kicked him hard in the stomach and punched him in the face. He was doubled over, trying desperately to gain some ground, but it was too late. Nika kneed him in the face, causing further damage to his nose, and this caused his head to rise up quickly and bang into the wall.

She needed to get out of here immediately before the others came looking. They had been gone too long already, and she was sure that if she remained any longer they would become suspicious and seek them out. Frankly, she was surprised that they hadn't heard the fight and come running.

Taking one last look at the bruised and bloodied man before her, she sent a swift punch to his right temple, and he collapsed to the ground. Probably just unconscious, but that wasn't her concern right now. She turned tail and sprinted full-speed down the hallway, being as quiet as she possibly could in an effort to not alert the other men of her current whereabouts. She slowed as she passed the poker room and realized that they were back to laughing and drinking and having a good time. Well, that was certainly in her favor.

She continued to run down the dimly lit hallway until, upon reaching the main entrance of the garage, she was stopped dead in her tracks. There stood Anatoly and Vladimir, just climbing out of their cab, staring quizzically at her. Then reality struck them and they understood what was happening. Their faces darkened and they began aggressively questioning her. What was she doing out here, why wasn't she with the others, where were the idiots who were "supposed to be WATCHING HER," etc.

She frowned at them, reluctant to answer and tell them that she had just beaten one of their best men unconscious. She started walking toward them, but diagonally, aiming toward the open end of the garage. This, unfortunately, did not work, as they read her intentions and cut her off before she made any real progress. She couldn't fight them both off, not in her current state. Her fingers, still in the healing process after being broken by her older brother, were throbbing painfully from the contact they had made with Sergei's face, the bruises on her body were renewed and aching, and since she was still healing from some pretty major bruising of the ribs, the brief altercation had depleted the remainder of her energy. Her shoulders slumped as Anatoly and Vladimir reached her, the adrenaline which had previously rushed through her veins now subsiding.

The brothers glanced at each other and then back to their sister.

"Where are the men who were supposed to be taking care of you?" Anatoly asked, more slowly this time.

She shrugged, looking away.

"Most of them are playing poker, probably."

Vladimir, annoyed, gritted his teeth and said,

"Most?"

She looked at them from under her eyelashes, refusing to answer.

Vladimir rolled his eyes, ultimately piecing together what had just taken place in their absence.

Each brother took one of her shoulders in hand and, spinning her around, marched back up the hallway toward the room that their men were occupying. Several of their employees, having become suspicious at the amount of time Sergei and Nika had been gone, were walking down the hallway, and met them halfway.

"Piotr." Anatoly snapped. "Why were you not with my sister?"

Wincing slightly, Piotr rubbed the back of his neck, embarrassed.

"She said she had to go the bathroom. Sergei went with her."

Her brothers simultaneously looked at the ceiling in exasperation.

"Nika, where is Sergei?"

She just sighed and looked up at Anatoly, deciding that it was probably time to admit it. After all, they would most likely take it better coming from her than-

"We found him!" A shout emanated down the hall. Nika rolled her eyes. Well, then; there went her small semblance of a plan. Her brothers looked almost nervous for a moment, hoping that their newly-found sister hadn't just killed off their best man.

"Is he alive?" Anatoly asked while Vladimir stood by, fuming. He was gripping Nika's shoulder very tightly now, but she didn't mention it, not wanting to anger him further.

The man who had found Sergei jogged toward them.

"Yes, alive, but unconscious." The man then threw an appraising look at Nika.

"His nose is broken, and his wrist is fractured."

This came as a surprise to everyone, including Nika. The Red Room had taught her how to break bones, yes, but she was usually aware when that happened. She hadn't felt his wrist fracture when she twisted it. It must have happened when he fell on it, she thought.

Vladimir sighed very heavily through his nose.

"Bandage him up." Then, looking at Anatoly, he added, "We're going home."

He still had Nika's shoulder in a death grip, but he loosened his hand in order to grab her upper arm, instead. Pulling her along behind him, he set off toward their cab at a quick pace. When they arrived, he yanked the door open and all but threw her into the backseat.

Anatoly had already climbed into the driver's seat, knowing that his brother was not in the proper mental state necessary to operate a vehicle. Vladimir was about to climb into the car when one of their men came hurriedly out of the hall, flagging them down.

"What?" Vladimir snapped at him.

"Uh, well, Mikhail's not here, sir." The kid stopped, assuming that his boss would understand what he was inferring. Vladimir did, and he wasn't happy about it. He slammed the car door shut and stalked toward the room he knew Sergei would be in, Anatoly and Nika close on his heels.

* * *

Sergei hissed in pain as the needle bit through the skin of his face rather viscously. He had woken up not long after he was placed in the medical room, dazed and confused, and not a little embarrassed at having been taken out by a teenaged girl. Anatoly was the one stitching him up, seeing as Mikhail was gone, and none of the others were suited to the job. In hindsight, he wasn't exactly sure why they only had one person with any medical training working under them. It would be much more beneficial to have several more under their employment, in case Mikhail was killed (a common occurrence, given their line of work), or in instances like these, where he simply wasn't working when they needed him. He placed the appropriate bandages onto his face after setting the bone as best he could.

After having Vladimir pop Sergei's shoulder back into its socket, he and his siblings got back into the car and drove to their apartment. This drive was filled with much more... _loud_ discussion than the previous ones, which mostly consisted of Vladimir shouting that Nika was being idiotic, that there was no reason for her to go back to that prison, and that she hurt one of his best men in her botched attempt at suicide (because, realistically, that's what she was looking at if she got back to the Red Room).

Nika stewed silently in the back seat, bottling up the anger that she felt. Anger at her brothers for holding her here, anger at the men who helped them, anger at the fact that she was so helpless against these people. She was trained better than this. She should be better than this. But she wasn't. That was a cold hard fact, one that had been stirring at the back of her mind since the first instance of failure on this mission, but which she was now forced to accept. Now that she had, she felt… weak. The fury which had set her blood afire just moments ago was gone, and in its place sat a cold, black emptiness, one so heavy that it was as if it physically weighed her down. She sank back into her seat, surprising tears of something she could not fathom springing to her eyes. She was nearly defeated, and there was now only one she could do to stop this.

* * *

It was early in the morning when Nika snuck into Anatoly's room. She had chosen the darkest part of the night to ensure that he would be asleep, but also as a sort of poetic justice. She was creeping in like a thief in the night, and he would be dead before he even had a chance to wake. Quick and clean, just as she preferred. Targets who made it difficult for her were undesirable- she hated having to pin them down while they struggled, feeling their tense muscles relax and their frightened (or angry) expressions fade when death took them. Also, it usually ended up with them losing much more blood than necessary, soaking themselves and Nika, not to mention splattering the sticky red substance over everything around them. This was bad for multiple reasons: on the stealthiest missions, they had to clean up after themselves, which meant that when the blood spatter was on nearly every surface, it made their jobs much more difficult. They couldn't leave behind even a trace, so it sometimes took upwards of an hour to finish the job, except on their time-sensitive assignments, in which they took a few swipes over the most obvious bloodstains and hoped for the best. It wasn't the most professional attitude for trained assassins to have, but it was the most they could muster given the circumstances.

Right now, however, her main objective was to make this expedient. If Anatoly were to wake, he might make enough noise to alert Vladimir in the next apartment over, which would be the death of her mission rather than of her prey.

She had begun by creeping down the hallway and checking the front door, making sure it was locked, just in case Anatoly did happen to put up a fight. The lock would buy her a few seconds in case Vladimir came running to his brother's aid, in which case every moment would count. There was no harm in being careful, after all. As she had failed once already, there was no sense in being cocky and over-confident of her abilities. She could afford no other mishaps.

Nika turned then to look at her soon-to-be-late brother. He and Vladimir had been taking turns trading her between their apartments as if she were a pet they were assigned the task of keeping watch over until its owner could return. They each gave her their bedroom in turn and slept on the couch the nights she stayed with them. Anatoly was sprawled out over the too-small sofa, arms and legs poking out of the blanket which was in the process of falling. His pillow lay on the floor beside him, which left his neck bent at an uncomfortable angle against the arm rest.

Nika walked over slowly, taking her time and being as silent as possible. She was light on her feet, a skill which had been particularly difficult for her to master, as she was naturally rather heavy-footed. She had to stop suddenly, a thought hit her like a freight train, and she reviewed her thought process over the last few days to make sure she had actually overlooked this bit of crucial planning. How could she make such a simple mistake? She had forgotten to choose a method of dispatching the sleeping subject. Had she been in any other situation, it could've jeopardized the entire mission. As it was, she could just sneak off quickly and choose a knife from the other room, but she berated herself nonetheless.

Padding softly into the kitchen, she selected the knife which would be best for the job, though she wished she had her own. All of her weapons and other belongings had been confiscated upon her capture and were not returned to her even after they discovered her identity. They didn't trust her enough for that quite yet, though, for some boneheaded reason, they had left the knives in the kitchen. Neither brother cooked very much, but what little they did could not be done without knives. And, she supposed they probably didn't expect her to try to carry through her mission. Obviously they still underestimated her loyalty and devotion to the Red Room. After tonight, her remaining brother would learn not to make that mistake again.

She quickly dragged the knife's edge against her finger, testing the sharpness. It cut open the top layer of skin easily, a drop of blood appearing on the surface. She was glad for this- it would make it easier to kill him, and it would go so speedily that he wouldn't suffer. Nika couldn't understand it, but she didn't want that for him. She supposed it was because, despite her best attempts to be completely emotionally removed from the situation, there was a certain familial bond between them that not even years of training in emotional defensiveness could break.

She walked into the living room, and as she stood above her brother with a sharp knife poised at the exposed and vulnerable skin of his throat, she found herself savoring these last few moments of his life. Someone had to, she supposed, and since he wasn't aware that he needed to, she must enjoy this time for him. And perhaps she was feeling rather hesitant. Was this really the right thing to do? She didn't really have another option, but surprisingly, she wanted one. If she didn't kill Anatoly, there was probably nothing else that would get her back into the good graces of the Red Room. That is what she really needed, right? To go back; to be safe, even though it was dangerous there, especially after this tribulation. She wouldn't get another chance if she did something they didn't approve of. She would be executed.

And then there was the little niggling, troubling thought perhaps they might not let her back in at all. What if her brothers were indeed correct? She was upset with them for planting the thought in her head. Before they had voiced it, she had not even considered the possibility that they could just kill her upon arrival, without giving her a chance to explain. They might even kill her after she explained, if they so chose. Maybe they would think she was weak, for being kept here against her will for so long. The girls in her program were supposed to be strong, to be fighters, able to overcome any adversity. And here was Nika, who had been taken down after ten minutes, knocked unconscious, tortured, and held captive by her own brothers for a week before she even had the strength to retaliate and try to escape. And if that wasn't bad enough, she was having second thoughts about it all. She was questioning her Masters, her loyalties, even though it had been deeply ingrained in her mind that they knew best. They knew what she needed to do, and she needed their instructions. She couldn't live without their orders. What purpose would be left for her?

Taking a deep breath, she made her decision. She had to kill her brother. Even if they killed her when she returned, that would be better than living life as a prisoner in what was supposed to be her own home. She mentally scoffed at this. As if this place could ever be home. She doubted that she would ever have a true home as they were taught by the organization from a young age that getting attached to a place was almost as bad as getting attached to a person, but at least back in that building in Russia she felt safe. Less vulnerable, less exposed to the world and the horrors in it. The horror of being so weak and helpless as she had been.

Anatoly stirred suddenly and violently, startling her badly enough to let her hand drop, the knife scraping his throat. This woke him fully, and he was alert and had his hands around her wrist in seconds. She placed her other hand in his hair, gripping his head and pulling it back. She pushed the knife down. It was barely breaking skin, not even enough to draw blood at this point.

"Nika! _Stop_!" He said, and under his scolding tone lay what she was taught to look for and inspire in the people she was sent to kill: fear. She had caught him unawares, and he was frightened that, given his current position, he might not be able to fight his way out of it. It was a close struggle for several tense moments, with Nika trying to angle the blade further into his neck, and Anatoly pushing against her arm as best he could from where he was laying. He had the couch at his back, which aided him, but she was still strong. She knew what she had to do.

She jerked backward suddenly, and, as he had a grip on her wrist and nothing else, he was taken with her. Anatoly landed hard on his side, with a loud bang that resonated throughout the open expanse of the room. His arms were sprawling around for purchase, something to help him to his feet. He was too slow, however, as his mind was still recovering from being in a deep rest, and he couldn't move quickly enough. Nika threw herself down on him, pinning him with one knee to the floor, and she put the knife to his throat. The knife's point was inserted about half an inch into his neck. The blood pooled around the indentation it made, running in rivulets down the side of his neck and onto the floor, staining the tan carpet a deep crimson. Anatoly made a painful gurgling sound, and the knife was pushed in deeper though he was once again fighting it. He wanted to hit her, get her by surprise and wrestle the knife away from her, but he couldn't. He was trapped, and moments away from death if something didn't happen.

" _Nika,_ " He looked at her pleadingly. "You don't have to do this."

Nika pushed the knife deeper, only slightly, biting her lip as she fought against his strength. A few more seconds and the blood loss would weaken him just enough, to the point where she could finish the job.

Before that could happen, she was interrupted. The door to the apartment was kicked open with such force that splinters from it and the door frame flew half-way across the room. She hadn't heard Vladimir desperately trying the doorknob seconds earlier.

"No!" She growled angrily. They weren't going to stop her again. Not this time. She had to finish this. She had to… But then Vladimir was pulling her away from Anatoly. She slashed back at him fiercely with the knife, but he caught her elbow, fought her arm down, and slammed her hand onto the floor so hard that her fingers involuntarily unclenched. The kitchen knife landed on the carpet with a soft thud, blood from its tip dancing across the floor, and she found herself lying next to it. Vladimir forced her face-first into the carpet, twisting one arm behind her and holding the other firmly against the ground. She struggled for a moment, but someone had a hand on the back of her neck, there was a knee in her back, and she was rendered immobile. Realizing that this was over, she relaxed her muscles slowly and deliberately. There was nothing more she could do. To her surprise and embarrassment, she felt her eyes begin to burn, for her the prequel to tears. Not only had her second assassination attempt been thwarted, but now she was going to cry in front of these two men whom she barely knew. Perfect.

She saw a hand- Anatoly's, she thought- reach over her and take the knife off the ground and out of view, then the weight lifted off of her, and she was able to turn over and sit up. Her brothers were standing and looking grimly at each other. Then, as was custom, Vladimir's trademark anger caught up to him and clawed its way to the surface. He glared at her furiously and yelled,

 _"_ _What were you thinking? What are you trying to do? You don't have to prove yourself to these people! And you are not going back! Do you hear me? You're never going back there!"_

He seemed then to realize that she was beginning to cry. It was mostly due to the fact that she felt like a failure, but hearing him screaming at her only compounded on Nika's misery. She felt suddenly very tired, like she could lean back and go to sleep then and there. She didn't dare sleep around either of them, though. And definitely not at this moment, when Vladimir looked inclined to take the knife and run it through her himself.

She reached up and hastily wiped away the small tears which were trying to form, crushing the chance of her body betraying her weaknesses any more than it already had. Standing up slowly, so as not to alarm the two rigidly tense men standing above her, she moved to sit on the couch. She half expected them to stop her, to try to fight her again, so she kept her guard up, but nothing happened. They just stood there, breathing heavily, glaring and looking disappointed. Disappointed in _her_. As if she needed that right now. Vladimir was positively fuming, and if she looked closely, she was almost sure that her sleep-deprived brain had imagined up some smoke which swirled from his ears and hovered over his head.


	5. Chapter 5

Nika sat perched on the edge of the couch, hands braced on either side of her, and stared at her brothers as they paced through the room. Truth be told, it was mainly Vladimir stalking around like a caged tiger while Anatoly shadowed him, trying (albeit unsuccessfully) to make him stop and listen to him.

The tension in the room was palpable, but Nika was trained to be patient and calm, and she was determined that it would not fail her now. She knew that this day would inevitably end in a lecture from her brothers, but she would not be the one to initiate it.

Concluding that he would have to lead by example, Anatoly took up a new position: placidly leaning against the wall, as opposed to chasing his brother around the large expanse of the living room.

Eventually, Anatoly's superficial tranquility managed to stall his brother, and subsequently stopped Vladimir from working himself further into a bad mood. The two spoke in hushed tones for several minutes, occasionally stopping mid-sentence to look at their sister. She stared back at them with a curiously blank expression, considering her role in the events which had previously transpired. Her indifference disgusted Vladimir, she knew. It was evident to anyone who could see, as the man wore his emotions on his sleeve at all times ("We should play poker sometime," Nika thought to herself in a meager attempt to lighten the burden of her own stress).

Anatoly was gazing at her thoughtfully, his expression more difficult to read than their sibling's. Strange indeed; if she didn't know better, she would almost be inclined to think that it was pity which clouded his eyes. But that would, of course, be ridiculous. After all, no sane person would pity the one who had just made a cold-blooded attempt on their life. Then again, she wasn't entirely certain that her brother _was_ in his right mind.

Nika had reclined back on the couch, crossing her legs and folding her hands in her lap. She assayed a look of self-righteous innocence, which was both infuriating and dispiriting for her brothers. How could they hope to live with this girl if her erroneous actions left her unperturbed? Part of them wondered if this was some supreme acting on her part, or if she was indeed so inculcated by her previous captors that her mind was truly unable to fathom the weight and implications of her actions.

"Nika..." Anatoly's voice faded out as soon as he started speaking. There was no easy way to talk to someone who had just attempted to execute you, especially when they are one of the few people in the world who you actually want to trust. If scenarios such as this came up more often, perhaps there would be a tried and true method of dealing with it; But alas, their situation was unique, and thus they were left to forge their own path through this dense, treacherous ordeal.

She sighed. Perhaps this wasn't about patience- it might very well be better for her in the long run if she initiated things. At the very least, it would be nice to finally have it over with. Looking Anatoly in the eye, she deadpanned, "Say what you will, but I don't regret my actions. I have good reason to want you dead."

Concern overtook him, though not surprise. He knew that she wouldn't stop after this attempt on his life, but he had a shred of hope until that moment. She feels that this is her duty, though whether to her masters or herself he knew not.

She had not initially intended to say that to him, as she knew that it would more firmly plant the idea in his head that she would continue her crusade on him. It would have been better to fake guilt over her actions and pretend that she was going to live peaceably with them now, but she found herself not really caring. So what if he knew? He probably wouldn't have believed anything else. And that was for the best; now he was not only going to die, but he would die having known that she was coming for him and that he had been powerless to stop her, even with her living under his own roof and under his watchful eye. That would be another point in her favor when she got back to the Red Room. Surely after they hear her story they won't find it necessary to punish her for digressing from their plan.

"Nika, listen to me," Anatoly pleaded. He crouched down in front of her, leaning in and staring at her intensely, a very somber look on his face. "I know you're scared." She actually scoffed aloud at that. Where on earth would he get that idea? She was not scared. Angry, betrayed, frustrated beyond all belief? Yes. But scared? Never. She was trained by the best agents this world had to offer. What had she to fear?

He raised a hand for her to be patient, to hear him out.

"You're afraid because you know, deep down inside of you, that the Red Room will not take kindly to your increasingly long absence, not to mention your failed mission."

She started to shift in her seat, but stopped herself. His words rang with truth, but she would not give him the satisfaction of knowing it. And it was not all about her pride. If he knew- or thought, rather, that she was afraid to go back, that was more ammunition for him to use against her. But she was not afraid. She had every confidence that she would be welcomed back, even if she had to endure a reprimand first.

"Nika, you have to realize that these people are monsters. To them, you're dispensable. They don't care about you; they never have, and they never will. They have been using you from the moment you stepped foot into their facility. Or," He added, raising his eyebrows and looking away thoughtfully, "From the moment they abducted you."

Anatoly leaned back and looked to her, awaiting a response. She smiled, deciding to give him one that he wouldn't soon forget.

"You talk big, for someone in your line of work. You run a _mob_ , Anatoly. You and Vladimir run an organized crime syndicate. And you're calling _them_ the monsters? There's no telling what sort of unspeakable things you two have done, or _are_ doing. I recognize several of those tattoos, and they're very telling. Murderers, thieves, _hitmen_. That's what you are. That's what you've done with your lives. Not so different from me, when you think about it. But you're wrong: the Red Room didn't steal me. They rescued me,"

At their incredulous looks, she grinned briefly. "That's right. They rescued me from a life of poverty, of living on the streets. From resorting to street fights and being a hired gun to gain my experience. They taught me how to protect myself, in more ways than one. Most of all, they saved me from living a life with two boys who could really care less about me, other than being their little sister and thus their obligatory _burden_." She practically spat the last words out, her smile long gone, having given way to a cruel sneer.

There was a shocked silence as they absorbed her words. Vladimir resumed his anxious pacing. Anatoly was the first to recover and speak. His tone was low, but not from anger. He spoke slowly, almost in confusion. "Nika, if that's what you think, I'm sorry." An apology? He surprised her with that, but she continued to glare at him.

"It's not true. Yes, we've done things that make us… less than good men, but that doesn't mean the Red Room is good for you. _We_ care about you. Not as a burden, but as our flesh and blood." He finished firmly. He stared at her for a moment, and then rose and backed up a few paces, giving her some space. She would need some time to absorb what he had said.

Vladimir turned to her then and spoke. "But that doesn't mean we aren't.." He took a deep breath and gave her a chilling smile. "- _aggravated_ that you keep trying to kill Anatoly, and by the way you sulk around like any other moody teenager."

Nika had been staring at her lap for the majority of this, her iron resolve having suddenly given way to… was that guilt? She almost felt as if she had built up a wall of lies which was now crumbling. Was it possible that she had misjudged her brothers and their actions? She had blamed them for not coming for her, but in reality, could they have? They didn't know where she was. No one did. She was completely off the radar. And the Red Room prided itself on its strength and numbers- if they had tried to come, they would have been killed. And how was she to know they hadn't tried looking for her? It's not as if they said that they'd given up when she had been taken under the Red Room's wing. Perhaps they weren't the people she had assumed them to be...

But no. These thoughts were almost obscene. Words, words, words. That's all this was. She was almost fooled by Anatoly's silver-tongued speech, and her stomach churned at the thought. He didn't mean what he had said about her. In all likelihood, he just wanted her here to ease his own guilt- guilt over having failed her. But he was too late: she had her own life now, and it was time to get back to it.

* * *

A day later, Vladimir was brought suddenly from a peaceful slumber, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Something had woken him- a loud, abrupt noise. He craned his neck to look at his watch, which read 5:29 A.M. Still partially in recline, he let his hand sweep over his wooden nightstand before it found the gun which resided there. Climbing out of bed with effort- he was not much of a morning person-, he exited his room slowly and stalked around his apartment, searching for anything out of place. He found nothing unusual, and was about to chalk it all up to a strange dream when he heard a similar bang near the adjoining wall of his and Anatoly's apartments. Furrowing his eyebrows in confusion, he made the short walk between their doors and knocked cautiously. All was silent for a moment before Nika called out, sounding exasperated,

"Come in!"

He opened the door to find her sitting cross-legged on the floor, furiously fumbling with the splint holding her fingers in place while they healed. She was trying to hold the splint still while she changed the dirtied tape and gauze around them, but it kept slipping, and she knew that if the splint came off it would most likely hinder the healing process. She was getting more and more frustrated by the second, so Vladimir intervened before she could cause further damage to herself.

"Here, I'll do it." He knelt down before her and made to grab the roll of medical tape from her, but she held it away.

"It's fine, I can do it." She said grumpily, although it was painfully obvious to both of them that she most definitely could not.

He scowled and grabbed her wrist and unwound her fingers from around the tape. He frowned when he noticed that her hands were shaking slightly. Nika herself noted this, and pressed her lips together in annoyance, but said nothing.

Rolling her eyes, she allowed him to help her. Once he held the tape and had it slightly unfurled, he kept the splint from moving as he wrapped the tape around her fingers. There was a great deal of rolled eyes and huffing on both sides by the time he was finished, and Vladimir wondered whether all little sisters were this irritating, or just the estranged, brainwashed ones. Either way, he still didn't resent having to help her. He didn't know if he should feel bad about this or not, but he was slightly gratified that she was in this position, so that he had reason to be helping her with something. Maybe she would begin to realize that he really did have her best interests in mind (the fact that he was the one who'd put her in such a position was irrelevant, in his mind).

He stood slowly, legs aching after having crouched in an uncomfortable position for so long, and he almost missed Nika's small, grumbled "Thank you."

He was on his way out of the room to go back to his own place and get some more sleep when he thought better of it.

"Do you need anything else?"

"No." She replied coldly. So, the shield was still up. So be it. Then another thought came to him, nearly causing him to panic in light of recent events.

"Where's Anatoly?" He asked hurriedly.

"Shower." Came the curt reply. Now that he listened, he could hear water running, which relaxed him greatly.

"So... you have been changing your own bandages this past week?"

Nika paused, shoulders tensed in what was clearly annoyance. She didn't understand why he wanted to continue conversing with her. His work here was done, so why didn't he just leave already? Shaking her head in annoyance, she said, "Yes."

One-worded replies got on Vladimir's nerves, no matter who was speaking. He wasn't exactly an avid conversationalist, but he expected people to extend the courtesy of an actual reply. He crossed his arms and leaned back on his feet.

"Why were you having so much trouble today, then?"

Nika pursed her lips for a moment before answering. "Tired, I suppose. I didn't sleep well last night."

"Why not?"

"None of your business." She said calmly, rising and stretching her stiff limbs before heading into the kitchen. She had been here much longer than anticipated, and she found herself restless most nights without the accommodations that the Red Room afforded her. The longer she went without them, the more difficulty she had getting any sort of sleep, and last night had been particularly bad. She rubbed her wrist, upset by this realization, but said nothing. Vladimir did not need to know any of this.

Vladimir couldn't believe his ears. None of his business? Was it not his right as her brother to be concerned about her? He felt slighted, but dropped it after a few moments of consideration. He wasn't going to force her to tell him, and to be fair, she was entitled to some privacy. He only hoped that she wasn't up all night scheming once more on how to get back to that prison.

Shaking his head, he left and returned to his apartment, though he was now wide awake and knew that sleep wouldn't come again this morning.

* * *

It became a regular occurrence from then on, for Vladimir to show up wherever Nika was around that time in the morning and help her replace the bandages surrounding her hand. She wasn't entirely happy about it, but it did make the process much faster, as he had two hands at his advantage as opposed to her one. It became less frustrating over time for both of them, and in those small moments they found a sort of silent camaraderie.

* * *

Nika lay awake one night, drifting in and out of consciousness. When she was awake, she would lie there in bed and listen to the voices of the Russians down on the street below. They were placed there for her protection, or so her brothers had said. What this really meant was that their job was to guard the building so that she could not get away. But with the night shift came empty streets and cigarette cartons alike, and they couldn't help but to carry on conversations to stave off the mind-numbing boredom that threatened to overwhelm them with each uneventfully passing minute. They were stationed far enough away from each other that they were forced to speak loudly, bordering on shouting, and she was able to hear them quite easily. Sometimes she listened intently, because she herself was bored, and other times she simply blocked it out. It was all the same, usually. They complained about work, about this shift, about the bosses little sister who beat up one of their best men, and about their unfortunate lives. Besides their grumblings, they talked of little more than work. It seemed that very few of them had any sort of fulfilling personal life to speak of, so their job was all they had. She supposed that was why they threw themselves into this life with such enthusiasm- a trait which had otherwise confounded her.

She mocked them, in her head. They may have been speaking in Russian, but they were still loud enough for anyone to hear. If someone in this neighborhood happened to speak the mother tongue, they would surely turn the matter over to the police. But then, Nika had already learned in her short lifetime that people often don't care about what's going on around them, even when it seems that they should.

It was in a moment between sleeping and waking that she heard her window slide shut. Her eyes snapped open and she was out of bed in a flash, nearly getting tangled in the blanket in her haste. Naturally resuming a fighting stance, she sized up her opponent. It wasn't until she saw the clothing- the uniform standard for a messenger of the Red Room- that her heart calmed slightly. They merely wished to speak to her. If they were going to kill her, they would have sent an assassin, and she never would have seen it coming. They were too careful for that. No, the sound this young woman made was for the purpose of alerting Nika to her presence, and nothing more.

The Messenger spoke first, in a tone that brooked no refusal.

"You are on the verge of failure, child. Your superiors are unhappy about this, and for good reason. There is no reason for your mission to be taking this long. Your assignment was simple, and yet you have not even come close to completing it. We at the Red Room are concerned that you are becoming complacent in your mediocrity."

She paused then, and Nika earnestly pled with her.

"I apologize for my failure. This task was… more difficult than I had anticipated. These men are strong, and they have many in support of them."

"I did not come to hear excuses," The woman bit out. "I came to inform you that your mission has changed."

Nika's heartrate picked up. The window was closed, but she could have sworn that the temperature dropped a few degrees. Why were they changing her assignment? Had she really failed so spectacularly that they no longer deemed her fit for the first? This did not bode well for her.

The woman sensed her distress and raised a hand, motioning for her to be patient. "This change of plans is unrelated. A new opportunity has arrived, and since you have not yet completed your assigned task, your superiors felt that it would be better to carry on with a different objective. Listen carefully now, for you will receive no other instruction or aide until you have carried out your orders."

* * *

A few days came and went. Anatoly's words seemed to the brothers to have had a good effect on their little sister, for while the atmosphere within the apartments was still distinctly icy, she seemed to be making more of an effort to spend time with them.

All a part of Nika's new plan, this was done in order to gain their trust. She had to make them think she was softening up, that she was beginning to like and trust them, and they in turn would trust her, which was just what she needed. But she couldn't go too quickly, as that would only arouse their suspicion. It was torture for her to move so slowly into their confidence. Every day she spent with them weighed on her, reminding her more and more of the cruelty she faced at the hands of her teachers. Of course, they knew that this new mission would take time. A lot of time. But every day made her more certain that she would not return to a gracious, forgiving Head Mistress, even if she carried out perfectly her new mission. She would be sharply punished, if not killed, for failing the first time. And when she thought of how she was planning before on simply leaving, her job unfinished in every way, she shuddered. How could she have been so naive? She tried to dismantle these thoughts, reasoning that the Red Room simply didn't kill their own on a whim, but that sort of mindset is hard to shake. Each day she grew more unsure of herself. Was this plan really going to work? Would her success in this venture inspire confidence in the others of her ability, or would they think her weak for not killing her brother right away? Weakness was not tolerated there.

* * *

A voice was crying out. She focused on that and clung to it like a lifeline. That voice. She could only hear that voice. She could see nothing, feel nothing. It was as if all her other senses had been deadened, and hearing the voice was all she had left.

To whom did it belong? Who was it that she heard sobbing, crying, begging and pleading for something, whatever it was, to stop?

She listened to the voice for a while longer, feeling no pity for the person. She could barely comprehend what was happening. Why were they crying? What was happening? Where was she?

Eventually, feelings and emotions and sounds began to fade into her consciousness. And pain. The pain was nearly unbearable. It grew by the second, and as it came into her awareness she felt herself growing more and more tense, every muscle and bone in her body trying to reject the horrific feeling.

Her sight was slowly coming back, but it was blurred to the point of uselessness, her body in an agony like no other. She slowly came to the realization that the voice she heard was her own, though she was not consciously making these sounds. They came out of their own accord, ripped from her throat unwillingly and surrendered to the frigid air.

The Red Room pushed their students to extremes, and it was unheard of for any girl to go through the program without sustaining multiple bodily injuries due to the intense training regimes. That being said, never before had she experienced such all-consuming agony. Where was she? Though her senses had mostly returned to her, her mind seemed to be far afield. She couldn't process what was happening to her, or why she felt the way she did. Her thoughts came and went quickly, flitting through narrow corridors in her mind, bumping into the walls of her conscious and subconscious and then fading away into oblivion. There was no stringing these together- they were gone before she could attempt to form a coherent thought. All she knew for sure was that she hurt. She was in more pain than she had ever felt, and she wanted something to come along and save her from this torment. Something, anything. Something to stop the pain.

She could hear other voices now, though she couldn't make out the words. The voices were like blaring sirens, piercing her ears and intensifying her pain. Her vision came back, though only for a moment, and then the blackness consumed her again. For that brief moment, she saw light. Blinding light, which was painful to look at. There were blurred figures standing around her. She saw nothing else. This happened again, her sight coming back for a short time before blacking out again. Then it happened once more, and she began to have little flashes of vision, quick like lightning bolts. A man, clad in white. A long white coat. A woman, stern and unyielding, standing further away. A man in dark clothing, holding things in his hands; these things gave her a vaguely unpleasant feeling, which she couldn't place. Another flash of him: his clothes weren't dark, only stained.

These flashes of vision stopped as she felt a pain somewhere in her body intensify. Her mind being in the state it was, she couldn't tell exactly where she felt it. She was disoriented and afraid. Her thoughts were coming faster now, though she couldn't hold onto them. They remained in her mind for but a moment before they were gone, like sand washed clean by the waves. Who were these people? Why was she in so much pain? Why wouldn't they help her? Were they helping her and she was just unable to process it? Why couldn't she think, or move?

Who was she?


	6. Chapter 6

p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.119999885559082px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Her heart thudded in her chest. Her stomach churned, and bile rose in her throat. Her head was pounding with an intensity that brought tears to her eyes. She briefly wondered if she was getting sick, but she knew that wasn't it. She was on the bathroom floor, sitting against the wall and curled up as tightly as she was able, hands clasping themselves around her knees. Her mind raced, going over the various thoughts that had worked her into this state: the Red Room's plans for her, both now and later on; the various methods of torture used not to extract information but merely to inflict pain upon the recipient. She thought back to her training. Twelve years of teaching and training- wasted. Wasted because she was too weak and incapable of carrying out a simple assignment. /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.119999885559082px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"And if they could see her now, she knew they would lose all hope for her. Here she was, crying while curled up on the bathroom floor. She wasn't strong enough for this. The Red Room had given her life purpose, and if she could not fulfill that purpose, what use was she? What use was she to anyone, let alone herself? Perhaps death would be a mercy at this point. It would protect her from her own failure and inadequacy. /p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.119999885559082px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"Another pounding: but not in her head. Someone was knocking on the door. One of her brothers, it seemed. She couldn't be bothered to figure out which at the moment. He must have heard her crying, she realized. Perfect. Let them see her weakness. Let them see her at her worst moment- it didn't matter anymore. After all, what was the point of any of this? Building up a fake relationship with them to achieve a goal that didn't even make sense to her. And then she would return to the Red Room, and if they didn't kill her, they would send her on another, and another, and another, until she was too old to be of any use to them. Then they would kill her for sure, and what would her life have been worth? What was she doing? None of it was worth anything, in the long run. There was no point./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.119999885559082px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"She stood shakily and wiped the tears and mucus from her face. She was about to open the door when she thought better of it. She still had her pride. Looking in the mirror, she decided to let her brother wait while she cleaned up. She couldn't face him or anyone else looking like this. And besides, she was an agent of the Red Room, and she had no business letting anyone see her in a weak moment. She had done enough of that lately, she decided, and it would happen no more./p  
p style="border: 0px; outline: 0px; font-size: 15.119999885559082px; font-family: 'Lucida Grande', 'Lucida Sans Unicode', 'GNU Unifont', Verdana, Helvetica, sans-serif; vertical-align: baseline; list-style: none; margin: 1.286em auto; padding: 0px; line-height: 1.5; color: #2a2a2a;"She washed her face and combed her fingers through her hair, tying it up and doing her best to make herself look presentable. As time went on, and she thought less and less about the negativity which clouded her thoughts day in and day out, her face began to return to normal. The redness left it, and though her eyes still looked red and swollen, she decided that it could be passed off as exhaustion. She was tired, anyway. She'd hardly gotten any sleep in the past few days, which could also be contributing to her sudden and unpredictable breakdowns. This was enough. It was time to get a grip and take back control of her life./p 


End file.
